For Gondor and Rohan
by stndabvthcrwd1
Summary: Alandria joined the Fellowship hoping to aid her country, and perhaps destroy the plaguing darkness. What she did not expect was to meet a man that could save her, even in the dark times. But what about when he needs saving from himself? ; BoromirOC
1. Strangers From Distant Lands

**This is my first ever LOTR fic, although I've been a fan since the films first came out. I only recently read the books as well, so I certainly don't claim to be all-knowledgeable about Middle-earth and the LOTR world. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story - I know I'm enjoying writing it - and please, review :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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She'd arrived late, much later than she had hoped. But the lands were overrun with darkness and death, and traveling the distance to a haven such as Rivendell was not an easy task. No matter, she had indeed arrived, and just in time. Elrond himself, and Gandalf, came to greet her at the gates. With a gesture from Elrond, a fair blonde Elf came up and took her tired horse from her, and then she followed the tall Elf lord and wizard. They briefed her on how many arrivals there had been, and informed her of the small amount of time left before the council would begin, then left her at a small chamber to clean up and get something to eat. She did so hurriedly, already ashamed at the late hour of her arrival and aware of the doubt it must cast upon her and her people. However, soon the warm Elven waters of a bath easily soothed away whatever hurry and uncertainty she had, and the delicious fresh fruits and bread in her stomach calmed her racing mind. She exited her room clean and refreshed, and quickly made her way down to the golden courtyard and the circle of chairs.

Only half of the chairs were filled yet, she was pleased to see, and then she quickly took her own place amongst the seated. She sat closer to the few men that were present, and observed the others. Several Elves, a few Dwarves, a few Men, Gandalf, and a small child at his side. A child? This council was no place for children. But when she studied the boy more, she realized he wasn't a child but a young man, much smaller than he should have been. His feet were bare too, she noticed, and hairy, and the ears under his dark curls were pointed nearly like an elf's. She had heard rumor of strange folk gathering at Rivendell, but never anything about Little People. Only moments later more Elves and Dwarves had arrived to fill the chairs, and Elrond stepped into the half circle they had created. He gazed at them all, and she glanced around again, noticing only then she was the only female present - not to mention mortal as well. Her attention was quickly captured however, when Elrond began to speak.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands on the brink of destruction, none can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He turned and gestured at the small man. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." The small man stepped forward cautiously, wide blue eyes nervously flicking from face to face. He approached the stone pedestal and carefully placed a plain gold ring in it's center.

Alandria knew what it was the moment it left the small man's pocket, even more so when the dark weight seemed to press upon her. She could feel it, the power and evil of the ring, and it crushed away her will, whispering small lies of promise in her mind. But she held strong, knowing well enough to fight back the power and lies. Her attention was taken away from the object of evil when a soft murmur came from nearby.

"So it is true.." A man whispered, thoughtfully watching the gold ring glimmer upon it's stand. He had long hair the red-brown color of autumn leaves, and fair blue-grey eyes that observed the Ring carefully. The small man, Frodo, sat back down with a look mixed of unease and relief, as the other man stood up. He was dressed in the garb and colors of Gondor, and began to speak, his voice full of soft wonderment. "In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, 'Doom is near at hand, Isildur's Bane is found.' " He approached the Ring, lifting his hand as if it drew him nearer. "Isildur's Bane.." He whispered, reaching his fingers to touch the object. Alandria could feel the excited darkness of the Ring as the man drew closer, and just when she thought he was going to give in and take it, Elrond stood up swiftly.

"Boromir!" He shouted the man's name, causing him to jump, when at the same time darkness covered everything and harsh, black words of Mordor thundered around the Council. Clouds covered the sun that had been there only seconds before, and the ground seemed to shake with the unwanted evil of such speech. Gandalf had stood, and was speaking the dark tongue almost as if scolding Boromir, who was glancing around in awed panic and retreating back to his seat. The Elves, Dwarves, and Men beside Alandria looked around in fear and dread, while Elrond held his head in his hand as if the words pained him. The words ceased and just as quickly the sun shined golden upon them again, and Boromir glanced around shakily.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here, in Imladris." Elrond muttered, glancing at Gandalf in disapproval.

"I do not ask for pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" The old Wizard faced Boromir, features hard. "The Ring is altogether evil."

Boromir shook his head slightly, focus already turned back to the Ring on it's cement throne. "Ah, it is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor!" He stood to pace excitedly, trying to convince the beings around him. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it - none of us can." A different man spoke out, this one handsome, of dark hair and light eyes, clad in the grey-blue cloth of the Elves. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" The Gondorian challenged.

A fair blonde Elf stood up, dark blue eyes hard and focused on the autumn-haired man. "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir turned back to face the still-seated Aragorn, disbelief and faint amusement on his rugged features. "Aragorn? This..is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." The Elf snapped, receiving a glare from the man, and a quick word in elvish from Aragorn, whom appeared tired.

Boromir stared hard at Aragorn, then the same at the out-spoken Elf. "Gondor has no king." He spat. "Gondor needs no king." He turned and seated himself again, glaring at the dark-haired heir of his country.

Gandalf spoke, seemingly tired of the men's argument and Boromir's outbursts. "Aragorn is right, we cannot use it."

"You have only one choice." Elrond attempted to take control again, eyeing every seated member carefully. "The Ring must be destroyed." Silence answered the Elf Lord's words, as the present members of the Council glanced at each other uneasily.

"Then what are we waiting for?" A stout Dwarf finally demanded, jumping up and striding quickly towards the Ring, bringing his axe down upon it. With an explosive crack that flung the Dwarf backwards, the Ring deflected the blow of the axe, splitting it apart. The Dwarf stared up from the ground in surprise, but Elrond seemed unmoved.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glòin, by any craft that we here posses. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom, only there can it be unmade. The Ring must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this." The powerful Elf observed the Coucil members surrounding him, waiting for someone to step up to the seemingly impossible task he had presented. No one hardly dared breathe.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor." Boromir of Gondor spoke once again, now appearing tired. "It's black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep - the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire, ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly." He shook his head in despair.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" The blonde Elf, Legolas Aragorn called him, challenged the man again. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" Gimli growled, eyeing the Elf with distrust.

"And if we fail, what then?" Boromir cried in desperation, standing once again. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" Gimli argued again. "Never trust an Elf!"

His words caused an immediate eruption of fury amongst the other Elves seated beside Legolas, and as they stood, so did Gimli's fellow Dwarves. Alandria stayed where she sat, still in silence, and watched as even Gandalf rose to join the heated debate, gesturing swiftly and speaking firmly with Boromir. The Gondorian was enraged with the events that had occurred so far and took obvious advantage of the Wizard arguing with him, his features furious and movements harsh. Only Aragorn, Elrond, the little Frodo, and herself still sat. Alandria watched the little man curiously, confused as to why such a small being had been the bearer of such immense evil. Even now the boy was staring at the Ring, his cheerful features strained and uncomfortable. He shifted, wide blue eyes never leaving the gold shine of the Ring, until finally he looked up at the roaring Council.

"I will take it!" He shouted, and Alandria leaned forward in surprise, a soft sound of disagreement escaping her throat. Aragorn glanced at her, but she did not see, and they were soon both focused on the small man that was straining to be heard. "I will take it!" He cried again, and only then did the others hear him, falling silent and staring in awe. "I will take the Ring to Mordor." Frodo glanced around nervously, their disbelieving gazes making him uneasy. "Though, I do not know the way."

Gandalf nodded, as if he had expected the small man to take on this burden, and rested his hand on the little one's shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is your's to bear."

For the first time, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, stood. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." He approached the young man and knelt before him to grasp his hands. "You have my sword."

Legolas stepped forward. "And you have my bow."

Gimli, not to be outdone by an Elf, moved forward as well. "And my axe!"

Slowly, carefully, Boromir stepped forward as well, eyeing the rest of the allied group. "You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done." He nodded and then Alandria was on her feet before she knew what she was doing.

"The speed of the Rohirrim shall be with you, Little Master." She bowed, hand on her chest, and tried to avoid the critical looks of the rest of the group. She stood tall again, catching the faint smile on the old Wizard's face before he nodded to her, and with that she gained the strength needed to stand proud behind the little Ring Bearer, the powerful Gondorian beside her.

Then a cry of disapproval rang out, and another small man came scurrying into view, only to stumble to a stop beside Frodo and cross his arms determinedly. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me."

Elrond smiled faintly and lightly chided the new arrival, only to turn around in surprise when another cry rang out and two more small men ran forward.

"Wait, we're coming too! You'll have to send us off tied up in a sack to stop us!" One said with a smile, glancing at Frodo.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of..mission..quest...thing." The little man nodded and stood proud, and Alandria smiled slightly at the loyalty of such little creatures.

"Well that rules you out, Pip." Said one new arrival to the other that had just spoken.

Alandria smiled again, and then proudly faced Elrond, who was observing their odd assortment of companions with faint amusement. "Ten companions..so be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" Chirped the silly little curly headed man, Pip, one had called him. "Where are we going?"

The other little people beside him stared in mild surprise, only to shake their heads and turn away with a laugh. Frodo stepped forward to once again claim the Ring, and Elrond bade them to start planning and preparing for their journey, for it would be difficult and long. The little men quickly disappeared in a babble of cheer, while Legolas silently disappeared and Gimli strode off with a grumble. Soon Alandria was left in the bare courtyard with Gandalf and the two strange men, Aragorn and Boromir. The Ranger seemed merely to observe her presence, perhaps wondering what use she would serve. The Gondorian's stare was calculating, and thoughtful. Gandalf ignored the other two however, and clasped her shoulder firmly in his aged hand, a smile on his bearded face.

"I am pleased to have you join us, Lady of the Rohirrim. Your strength in the wild and skill with a sword may be put well to use. And a group of such personalities made need a female touch from time to time." He added with a wink and yet another smile. "Be welcome, and ready yourself for the journey."

Alandria nodded, but spoke softly, uneasy to have the nearby men overhear her. "Thank you Master Gandalf, but sir, I do not know of the companions I have chosen to travel with. Will you not tell me of the little men who are so abundant and eager to put their lives at stake? And the Heir of Isildur - is it true?"

Gandalf nodded, but gave no comforting reply. "All in time, my dear. You will find out in time. As for the Ring Bearer and his companions, however, they are kindred of the Hobbits, from the Shire. Small folk, but you will find them hearty indeed. Now," He smiled broadly again. "We have not much time to waste, for the shadows of the East do not rest. Prepare yourself, my lady, and we will speak again."

She nodded, as the bent man began to wander away. "Thank you, Master Gandalf. I look forward to the journey." He nodded, and was soon out of sight. Alandria sighed, closing her eyes for a moment in prayer for strength for what burden she had just taken on. When she opened them, the grey-blue eyes of Gondor were focused on her. Aragorn had disappeared, but Boromir still stood in the now nearly silent courtyard, and studied her with no shame. He stepped forward then, and she found herself having to fight not to step away. His outbursts about the Ring earlier had her on edge, wary as to what side he was truly on.

"Pardon, my lady, but you are a face I do not recognize here." He spoke softly and studied her gently, with each second growing less threatening. "You say you are of the Rohirrim?"

She nodded. "Yes, Lord Boromir. I am Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn. I come from Edoras." She bowed to him same as she had bowed to the Hobbit.

"May I ask how it is that a lady should be sent into such perils, and not a man of Rohan?"

Alandria's leaf-green eyes flashed for an instant, before calming. "A woman may fight just as valiantly as a man, my lord. I had only to prove myself."

"King Thèoden sent you?"

"I sent myself, sir." She announced proudly, standing taller. "I received news from Gandalf Greyhame of a meeting in Rivendell, a Council to discuss the fate of the free peoples of Middle Earth, and asked leave of my lord. The shadow of the East is near in Rohan, and darkness is beginning to plague my land. I join the Fellowship in hope to banish the Dark Lord once and for all - and if I do not make it that far, I will die trying to make it so."

The handsome Gondorian nodded, no mockery or amusement in his eyes as she had so readily expected. "Then we are here for the same purpose, Lady of Rohan. For I am Boromir, son of Denethor," He bowed in return to her. "And too dark have the white walls of my city become for my liking. I travel here on the word of Gandalf the Grey, and joined the allegiance to see the dark powers of Mordor cast shadow no more. I am pleased to see a mortal face with same desires."

"And I as well." She agreed. "Pleased I am, to make your acquiantance Lord Boromir, but I fear I must prepare now. I look forward to traveling, and if so be it, fighting, beside you." She bowed slightly again, and as he returned it, strode away with ease. Perhaps he was no threat after all.


	2. Dawn Is Nearly Here

**Thank you for the reviews so far, and for adding this story to your alerts/faves! I'm really, really nervous about writing this fic because there are so many _amazing_ones out there, but it's great to know it's liked so far :) This chapter is considerably shorter than the last one, but that's because it's mostly just to fill in a small bit on the character Alandria. Please have patience, longer(and hopefully better) chapters are on the way!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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They didn't start out as quickly as planned for the Hobbits, it seemed, could not be rushed. A small number of days passed by and then they were bid farewell by the Elves of Rivendell. Alandria held back, planning on bringing up the near rear of their line, and noticed a dark haired and particularly beautiful female Elf watching them leave. More accurately, the beautiful creature was watching the Ranger, Aragorn. He paused, and gazed back at the she-Elf with too much sorrow; Alandria had to turn away. She did not know what tie the Ranger and Elf had, and did not want to ask. Instead, she followed the Company. The day was not particularly warm, but not cold either, and comfortable for a first day of travel. The Fellowship journeyed only a couple of leagues before night fell, and were still in sight of the glimmering city of the Elves. As soon as Gandalf, who had been leading them, ceased his walking and called for a rest, everyone dropped to sleep - save for Aragorn, who sat on first watch.

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Alandria was woken too soon, it seemed, and by none other than the grey eyes of Gondor. He shook her gently, and she started in surprise. He said nothing, only rose back to his feet and held out a gloved hand. She grasped it and he pulled her up to stand, a faint smile on his lips when her gaze met his. "Thank you, my lord." She shifted uneasily, and then hesitatingly spoke. "If you do not mind, before I relieve you of your post, could you hold it but a moment longer and pardon me to wake up more alertly by the stream nearby?"

"Of course." He politely excused her and she quietly slipped away.

She knelt at the small stream and cupped the icy water in her hands, to toss it across her face. The chill alerted her senses, and she stood to have one last look at the glittering city only a short distance away. With a quick word of prayer that the Elves should find their peace safely, she returned to the camp. The tall Gondorian had not moved a foot, and his eyes were on the dark shapes of distant clouds. "You may rest now, Lord Boromir. The dawn is near and I fear we shall be pressed harder today than before." The man nodded, but did not move from where he stood.

"I ask your pardon my lady, but I should not be able to sleep even if I desired to. Too threatening is the journey we have begun. If it is appropriate, I should like to keep watch with you." His light eyes were dark in the shadows of not-yet-morning, his features smooth and relaxed.

Alandria nodded without hesitation. "It is, sir. I understand the difficulty of sleeping outside the walls of your own keep at times such as this."

"It is weary." He agreed. "Too long I feel I have not seen my city, or my brother and father." Boromir sighed heavily, a deep rush of warm air creating a grey plume in the darkness. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree he was resting against, imagining the strength of his brother's embrace, the nod of approval from his father, and the smiles of the people he had so long fought to protect.

"Aye," Alandria murmured, breaking his dreaming. "I am sorry for this extension to your journey from your city, and I wish you to return soon."

"You would think I would be used to it, long journeys from home. I have, after all, endured them for years." He sighed again, and another cloud of breath was seen in the dark. "But no, you can never get quite used to leaving behind those you love."

"I suppose not, lord."

"Have you family to miss you, Lady Alandria?"

"My father, yes."

"No mother or brothers, sisters?" He asked curiously, deep, soft voice a comfort in the dark morning.

"No brothers or sisters, and my mother died years ago, when the first attacks started in our land. We come originally from further to the North, but when my mother died, Rohan became a haven and than a home. Now it is only my father and I."

"Your mother's death, is that why you are so eager to be in a battle?"

Alandria glanced at the handsome, red-haired man. "I have said nothing of being eager for battle."

"Aye, no you haven't, but not many women can I think of that would choose to embark upon a journey that almost surely ends in battle and death." He spoke simply, bluntly, and Alandria paused before replying.

"True, Master Boromir, and you are not entirely wrong. My father was always a soldier and fighter for our land. Being his only child, when I did not have duties with my mother, I have was taught to fight and hold my own since I was small. After we came to Rohan, I learned skill with a blade. And in times such as these, I do not see the purpose of a good blade and swordswoman having no use. There are surely the means for them, no?"

The man smiled softly, nodding. "You are indeed correct, my lady. I shall look forward to seeing your skills come about."

"Thank you, Lord, and I you." Alandria was comfortable in his presence, but still she felt the need to draw their conversation to a close. "But now if you would pardon me Lord Boromir, I should like to take a walk of watch before the light comes." He nodded and bade her a brief goodbye, as she slipped into the forest with a bow of her head.

She strode slowly and quietly through the thin trees, picking her way carefully in the darkness. The air was crisp and continued to wake her up, alerting her to every sound the strange lands had to bare. She circled the camp several times, enjoying the peace and time to think, before they marched onward again. How she had become part of such a Fellowship, Alandria still did not understand. The words she had exchanged with the Son of Gondor about her reason for arrival were true, but she had not known of the Ring, or expected to embark on such a task as this. The people around her were strangers but for Gandalf, and he seemed to be the only common link between any of the group members. No matter who the people were, she was sure she couldn't have gotten thrown in with a more curious assortment of folk. An Elf and Dwarf traveling together? A Northern Ranger, a soldier of Gondor, and a lady of Rohan, to fight together? A Wizard, and four little cheery folk, one of which was the bearer of the most immense evil to reach Middle Earth, embarking on the same journey? It was a tale that would surely never grow old - if indeed anyone lived to tell it. Time passed in the Lady of the Plain's watching and thinking, and she soon halted upon seeing a lean figure several feet away, standing with a hand on a tree. Alandria rested her hand on the sword at her hip, pulling the blade out only a centimeter in caution.

"You may ease your blade, Lady of Rohan, these woods are well watched. We have not strayed far enough from Rivendell yet to be too concerned." The voice was light and smooth, and the fair blonde man turned towards her, his beautiful face kind. "All is well here."

She released her blade and relaxed, recognizing the Elf companion. "Does no one sleep around here?"

He smiled daintily, silently stepping towards her. His feet, Alandria noticed, seemed to walk over leaves and sticks without breaking them. "Some do, yes." He glanced behind her and she heard the faint, light snoring of the hobbits. "And more will once the road grows more tedious. As for me, I can sleep while awake, it is no matter. I find it easier to watch the world in all hours, anyway."

Alandria nodded slowly, mystified by the fair and radiant creature before her. "You are Master Legolas, yes?"

"I am." He bowed slightly. "Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm, my lady."

"Well, Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm, I am honored to have such reliable ears, eyes, and silence on this journey." She smiled almost nervously in the Elf's presence, but he returned a brilliant smile of his own with ease.

"And I am honored to have a fair lady of such caution and intelligence, as well." Alandria bowed her head modestly, and Legolas raised his head, peering up through the trees. "Come, let us go back to the company together. The dawn is nearly here."

She eagerly obeyed, and watched once more in awed silence as the Elf tread so lightly upon the ground, he left not even the slightest broken leaf in his wake. They soon were back in the small clearing which the company had laid out, and Alandria saw the faint pink edges of sky just to the East. She noticed also that the dark-clad Aragorn was awake, and Legolas politely excused himself from her side to go and speak with the dark and rugged man. Alandria was not alone for long though, before the richly colored man of Gondor stepped into her view.

"Did you enjoy your walk, my lady?" He asked with a faint polite smile.

"I did, sir, thank you, but I feel it ended too soon." She sighed softly. "Now it seems we must already begin our day."

"Ah, yes." He smiled broader, grey eyes crinkling slightly. "The journey must go on. Come, let us rouse the Halflings."


	3. Crebain

**It's still great to see this story being added and reviewed, and I'm still nervous about it all. But I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I should get the next one up quickly, cause it's another somewhat short-ish one... Thank for everything so far :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Their journey continued past Rivendell, over large hills and small mountains, across golden plains littered with rock. Gandalf led them on for several leagues a day, pressing them but never too hastily, for he was old himself, and could only march so far for so long. Yet the nine other companions followed obediently, trusting themselves not only to the wise Wizard but to the skills of each other. The days turned into weeks, and Alandria made it her duty to speak with each of her companions, in hope to learn more about this Fellowship she was part of.

All her fellow travelers returned her greetings with the same respect and friendliness she showed them, and it was surprisingly reassuring. Legolas spoke kindly and warmly with her, reciting for her short poems and songs of his people when he got weary. Aragorn was one of the quietest of the group, but did not deny her company. Often he would read signs on the paths they were treading, and seeing her curious glances, would explain his tracking without hesitation. Gimli the Dwarf was gruff upon first glance, but readily warmed up to her company and told great stories of the mines and creations he so missed, even persuading laughter from her at times. The Son of Gondor, Boromir, kept her company on his own accord, often stepping beside her rather than the other way around. He was always near, exchanging tales of battles and telling her stories of his family, something she observed with keen interest. His words were soft and deep, his grey-blue eyes gentle, and his broad smile enlightening. More and more she grew to enjoy his company, and slowly she forgot the way he had eyed the Ring when she first saw him. The hobbits, however, were her greatest interest, and whenever the road got too hard beneath her feet, or the day too long, she would speak with them to raise her spirits.

The most soft-spoken of the four, Samwise he introduced himself as, was polite and content to talk with her about the wit of the small pony he led, Bill, or about the foods he thought of making with what provisions they had, or even meals he missed from his home, or perhaps his gardening, and even his friendship with his master Frodo. He smiled and laughed more than the Ring Bearer, but less than the other two, and seemed more at ease to take care of their pony and his master than anything. Frodo was the quietest of the four little people, and kind indeed, but had nearly less to say than she. The weight of the Ring was becoming obvious as he stared at the ground as he walked, and she knew he was focused on other things than his friends and company. Thus it was she spent the most of her time amongst the other, more cheerful, two - Meriadoc and Peregrin. They eagerly accepted her curiosity of them, and passed by the days telling her of their much extended families, other Hobbits of the Shire, and even their own smaller - much smaller - adventures. They were full of laughter and jibes, lightening her mind with their stories, and often making her laugh with no more than a smile.

"You did not!" Alandria giggled childishly, leading her horse steadily beside the two hobbits.

"Aye, but we did!" Pippin insisted. "Just borrowed some of his crop though, mind you. We ain't thieves. And then we run straight into Frodo and Sam 'ere, next thing we know, we're on this mission! My mum always said to mind me own business, lest trouble come. I never thought to take her so literally!"

"Ah, but this ain't the worst that could've happened, you 'spose?" Merry argued, and Pippin nodded immediately in trusting agreement.

"Just imagine if Farmer Maggot had caught us! We wouldn't even have legs to travel with!"

"Right you are, Pip!" Merry agreed with a nod of his curly head, and Alandria shook her own head with a smile at the optimism of the two folk.

It was then that Gandalf, in the lead, hollered back at the rest of them that they would be taking a quick break. Alandria hadn't been paying much attention to her surroundings, and only just noticed they had come upon a large group of rocks, which the company was now spreading leisurely about. Sam immediately began unpacking supplies to make a lunch, although he had to pause to steer Bill behind a large rock to hide at Gandalf's warning, and was soon content to cook their meal, with Frodo quickly gathering fire wood and building a small flame. Legolas stepped lightly among the boulders, his keen dark blue eyes skimming the land around them, but what he saw, she could only guess. Aragorn and Gandalf settled where they pleased and each pulled out a pipe, taking advantage of the break to relax themselves with the sweet smoke, silent in their thoughts. Gimli wandered wearily, almost as if imitating the watchful Elf, but grumbled quietly to himself, presumably waiting for the hobbits to cook their food. Boromir stood by himself, staring with arms crossed towards the East, as if waiting for something to happen. Merry and Pippin, too, began to help Sam and Frodo with the meal, all the four of the little men finding pleasure in a warm meal and none of the other travelers daring to stop them. Hobbits, it seemed, could make the simplest things taste like glory, even on a trek such as this. When Gandalf bid Alandria to do the same with her horse as Sam had done with Bill, she obediently settled him behind the rocks with the brown pony. It seemed strange to her that the wizard would insist upon such secrecy for just a break, but these were strange times.

Soon the food was ready, and Alandria felt that the smells of bacon, sausages, and roasted vegetables would drive her mad if she did not eat quickly. But she ate sparingly, wary of how long they would be traveling, and when their provisions might be re-stored. Little as she ate, it was all delicious, and warm food was a pleasant relief to them all. The others finished quickly as well, yet Gandalf assured them they did not need to hurry back to marching, and no one disagreed. Soon they were all back in their previous postures and at their previous tasks, until Merry and Pippin were drawn away from the fire and left-overs of lunch by a suggestion they could not deny. Boromir drew the two hobbits aside with a grin, tossing them each their swords, and then picking up his own. Alandria saw what he planned to do with the little men, and joined Aragorn in watching.

The Gondorian placed himself and his partners in a small flat space amongst the rocks, and briefly explained a couple simple moves with the sword to the less experienced fighters. The silly hobbits were eager to mimic his movements, and did so readily, until the powerful man lightly brought his own sword down upon them. They blocked as he had shown them how, and carefully swung back with their own attacks. The large man defended himself almost leisurely, but a faint smile played across his lips as he continued to work with the little hobbits.

"2, 1, 5! Good, very good!" Boromir traded blows with Merry, and then complimented the man when they were blocked. He did the same to Pippin, receiving similar reactions.

"Move your feet." The Ranger beside her comment idly, light smoke trailing from his lips. Shortly after the man spoke, Boromir moved his sword a tad too quickly, and knicked Pippin's hand.

"Agh!" Yelped the little hobbit, dropping his sword and shaking his hand in surprise and slight pain.

"Ah! Sorry!" Cried Boromir immediately, strong features drawn with worry. He bent down as if to help the little man, but Pippin would have nothing of it. With a swift kick to the larger man's shin, he brought a yelp out of the Gondorian. Boromir limped a moment, and then Merry swung the flat of his sword into the side of the soldier's leg, who cried out again and fell over, the hobbits upon him. Immediately the yelps and fighting turned into laughter and wrestling, causing both Alandria and even Aragorn to grin.

"For the Shire! Hold him, hold him down Merry!" Alandria covered her laughter with her hand, but it did not stop the warmth that spun in her gut upon seeing the huge smile and gentle, hearty chuckle of Boromir, son of Denethor. He wrestled gently with the hobbits as he would with children, and their laughs were much like children's as it were. Gone were the worries and weariness of their travels, impossible to see the serious and almost foreboding soldier, it was. Yet their foolishness was cut short.

"What is that?" Sam asked idly behind them. Alandria turned around, and spotted Legolas perched atop a boulder and staring at a grey sort of mist in the sky, both Sam, Gandalf, Frodo and Gimli looking as well.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud." The Dwarf dismissed, but now the rest of the Fellowship was wary.

"It's moving fast." Boromir commented softly, back on his feet and arms around each of the hobbits. "Against the wind.."

"Crebain, from Dunland!" Legolas cried suddenly, jumping down from his height.

"Hide!" Hollered Aragorn, also recognizing the spies, and grabbing ahold of the items laying nearby while shouting at Sam and Frodo.

"Merry! Pippin!" Called Boromir, ushering the hobbits with him and into a thicket of bushes, before picking up his own idle sword. Sam tossed a bowl of water onto the fire, and joined Aragorn and Frodo beneath a rock, while the others quickly disappeared into their own hiding places. Alandria however found herself unable to move, gazing at the dark mass approaching them with unnatural curiosity, having never seen the winged spies before. A sharp tug on her arm pulled her to her knees, and then strong hands guided her under a low boulder. With her cheek pressed hard against dirt and her shoulders against stone, she glimpsed a flash of gold and red sleeves over chain-mail before the shrieks of the Crebain screamed all around. The black shapes flew quickly over their now-bare camp, whistling and screaming alarmingly loud, before swiftly disappearing. Everyone seemed to hold their breath and waited a moment, before the silence drew on and they dared crawl from where they hid. Alandria quickly rolled out of the tight alcove she'd been shoved into and stood, seeing the others up and stepping from behind boulders or brush. All except Boromir and his two students.

"Boromir?" Alandria called, glancing around, feeling something close to panic. "Merry? Pippin? Boro-" She stopped with a relieved sigh, seeing the autumn-haired and grey-eyed man lead the small hobbits out from their shield of dead bush. The two little men brushed the dirt from themselves and immediately went to check on their fellow hobbits, while Boromir focused his soft gaze on her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, closing the distance between them with a few strides.

"Yes." Alandria nodded. "Thank you, for hiding me. I don't know what came over me, but suddenly the birds just seemed so...so fascinating. I don't know why." She shook her head in embarrassment, but Boromir didn't scold her for nearly having them all found out.

"Some trick of Saruman's, I would have no doubt. Who knows what craft he is capable of. But no worry, come, let us see what Mithrandir has to say." Alandria nearly asked who 'Mithrandir' was, but received her answer when the entire company turned their attention to Gandalf.

"Spies of Saurman. Our passage South has been watched." The aged and bent man observed, then turned to look at the white mountains behind them. "We must take the pass of Caradhras."


	4. Should Never Have Come Here

**I hope everyone is continuing to enjoy this story :) And please, as always, review...**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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The snow was cold. The snow was wet. The snow was miserable. The chill breeze in their faces did not make matters any better, and their slope uphill was treacherously slick and difficult to break. Alandria plodded between Boromir and Gimli, unaccostomed to such snow and mountains, and yet the hike kept her from shivering. She could hardly feel her feet through her boots, and a misguided step sent her towards the ground at a slant. She lost her breath for a moment, but a strong gloved hand caught her arm, and another stabled her at her back. Alandria quickly regained her balance, embarrassed yet again, and glanced up into grey-blue eyes bright and brilliant in the chill. She smiled faintly in silent thanks, and he merely nodded before letting her go and waiting until she drew ahead again.

A couple moments more, and Alandria heard the faint crash through snow and rustle of clothing to signify another traveler had stumbled in the cold. It came from behind her and she glanced around, to see Boromir had stopped as well. It was Frodo that had fallen, and he had rolled down several feet, until Aragorn caught him. The small man stood up and his hand immediately flew to his throat, searching for the chain that held the Ring. Boromir stepped a short bit closer to the hobbit, and bent down to pick something up. As he stood, his back was to Alandria, but she could see the glint of silver and gold dangling from his hand. The entire company had stopped now, watching intently as the scene unfolded. Boromir raised his hand and gazed at the small object, intently, she knew, but was also thankful she could not see his face. She didn't want to see the hunger he stared at the Ring with, again.

"Boromir." Aragorn spoke softly, but commanding. "Give the Ring to Frodo."

The rugged man paid the Ranger no heed, continuing to stare at the Ring. "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt, over so small a thing...such a little thing.." He murmured, and his last words were almost impossible to catch. He raised his gloved hand, as if to touch the Ring, and Alandria held her breath, willing him to hold back.

"Boromir!" Shouted Aragorn, catching the soldier's attention just before his fingertips touched the golden object. "Give the Ring to Frodo." The dark haired man's voice was quieter, but strong and forceful. Boromir approached the little hobbit, obeying. Alandria couldn't hear anymore words that might have been exchanged, and seeing the glare Aragorn had focused on the other man, she quickly stumbled down towards them.

"Come, Boromir. Let's go." She placed a hand on his arm and gently pulled, urging him with her. She watched uneasily as the fair-haired Gondorian tousled the dark curls of the Ring Bearer, the stern eyes of Aragorn ever watchful, and turned back around, adjusting his shield. His hand touched her back idly, and slid around across her shoulder, gently encouraging her not to worry and just come with him. Alandria did worry though, not only at his fascination of the Ring, but also at seeing how quick Aragorn was to defend the Ring Bearer. As she began to turn away, however, she glimpsed the Ranger's hand leaving the hilt of his sword, and hot anger flushed across her skin. Would this man really go so far to protect the hobbit as to kill his own comrade? The probable answer gave her shivers.

If Alandria had thought that their trip up to Caradhras was difficult, nothing could have prepared her for the mountain itself. Blinding snow and screaming wind, always trying to push them back and cutting like knives of ice right through their clothing, to their bones. It made their freezing faces raw, and stung their eyes sharply. The force of the wind made it near impossible to breathe, and it was just as difficult to see. Somehow Gandalf was in front, leading them ever on, fighting the white, nightmarish weather. Boromir had placed himself in front of her in hope that his large, round shield would protect her from the bitter cold and wind she was so unused to. In the beginning, it served its purpose perfectly, and she almost felt selfish that she should have such a defense from the blizzard and the others be forced to fight it. But before long, the wind and snow increased, flowing over and around the shield as if it were not even there. The onslaught of ice and snow caught her off guard and she stumbled, but there was no strong man to catch her - he was much too occupied with carrying Merry and Pippin, trying to shield them from snow, and continued to plow his way behind the companions before him. Her stumble turned into a trip, and she crashed onto her hands and knees in the deep snow. The freezing powder burned the bare skin it found between her pieces of clothing, and was slowly soaking the clothes themselves. She clambered blindly back to her numb eet, and then glanced slightly to her right when something moved. It was the fair Elf, his feet so light he could walk across the snow rather than through it. He moved beside them, ducking his head in the wind's blow, but looking into the grey mass of sky.

"There is a foul voice on the air." He commented, his soft voice carrying surprisingly well through the screams of wind.

"It's Saruman!" Cried Gandalf, and at that moment, a crack echoed above the Fellowship, followed by an onslaught of falling boulders of ice. Each of the members threw themselves closer to the mountain side, Aragorn and Boromir turning their bodies to shield the hobbits they bore.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Alandria heard the Ranger holler behind her. "Gandalf! We must turn back!"

"No!" Replied the wizard, before standing up taller and facing the direction Legolas had been listening. He threw his own words into the wind, hoping to defy the power of the White Wizard, but it could not be done. Something near an explosion sounded above them all, and Alandria turned her face skywards just in time to glimpse a sea of white hurling down upon them, before she turned away and covered her ears with her hands against the roaring of falling snow.

"Alandria!" A deep voice yelled near her, and she pressed closer to the Gondorian soldier with perfect timing, her body slipping partially under an edge of his shield and her shoulder pressed firmly against his side as she ducked, and a cold weight settled over them all. It grew heavier, and colder, and it was difficult to breathe. When the roaring stopped, Alandria paused a moment and heard only silence, before trying to claw her way back up to light. She moved through the snow perilously slowly, and it seemed minutes before her hand broke free of cold and wet. Soon she had her arm out, and shoulder, before relieving her entire upper torso of the snow. Only a mere foot or so away, and a heap of snow began to move, and then crumble, as the broad figure of Boromir rose and his shield plowed away the snow that had fallen on top of him. He pulled free the hobbits, who were spluttering and shaking with cold, and she could see his lips move as he made sure they were alright, before shivering himself. The little creatures nodded wearily, looking up at him in thanks.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir yelled at Gandalf, for the wind still howled. "Make for the Gap of Rohan! And take the West road to my city!"

"And if we can stop at Rohan, we may have a rest there, and gather strength!" Alandria volunteered her thoughts as well.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn argued from behind.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it!" Suggested Gimli. "Let us go through the mines of Moria."

Gandalf remained silent, contemplating their suggestions and perhaps more. He seemed unsettled and ill-at-ease, worried, even. "Let the Ring Bearer decide." He finally said, voice barely able to be heard. Alandria saw the snow covered Gondorian glance at Frodo and Aragorn in distaste, no doubt longing for them to brave Isengard so he could be home again.

"We cannot stay here!" He insisted with a cry. "This will be the death of the hobbits!" They knew he spoke true, for Frodo was exchanging glances with his fellow little people, and they looked nearly frozen to cold death.

"Frodo?" Gandalf asked softly again.

The entire company's attention turned to Frodo, and he bore it uneasily, trembling with cold before he spoke. "We will go through the mines."

This decision didn't seem to please the wizard, nor surprise him, but he did not argue. "So be it."

None of the Fellowship seemed to be at ease as they escaped the cold wrath of Caradhras and made their way to the front of the mines. It didn't look like a mine to Alandria, just a wall of rock, but she hadn't seen a mine herself before so perhaps it looked like all mines do. What she did know, was the dark lake that lay beside it bothered her. It was dark and cold and felt of death. She glanced at where Gandalf stood beside the rock wall, and watched in fascination as lines of silver appeared in the form of a complex door. The Wizard then placed his staff against a spot on the stone-door, and spoke some sort of Elvish words. Nothing happened. Gandalf shifted, then raised his arms and commanded a different set of words. The company watched in unease as, again, the doors did not open.

"Nothing's happening." Pippin commented idly, and Gandalf resorted to trying to push the doors open. "What should we do, then?" Asked the little hobbit, after another several seconds of silence.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words!" The Grey Wizard snapped, aggravated by his incorrect solutions, and then turned back to the doors with a grumble.

Some long time later, Gandalf still didn't have the passage to Moria open. The Company was spread out and resting among the rocks beside the lake, talking quietly or simply thinking. Aragorn was slowly convincing Sam to let Bill go, and the poor little hobbit seemed to be having a difficult time separating with his sturdy pony. Alandria understood - she'd had to release her proud steed before Caradhras, for a snowy mountain was nothing the horse had seen before and Alandria would not suffer him to bear it. She had been resting on a low boulder and watching Merry and Pippin toss a stone back and forth when a figure moved into her vision. She glanced up, and shifted when the Gondorian rested on a boulder near her.

"We should not be here." He muttered softly, only for her ears to hear.

"I know, I don't like this place either." She replied, glancing around at the dark rocks and lake. "It does't feel right. Especially that lake, I don't like the look of it."

"No, none of it feels right. There is a reason Saruman blocked the mountain - he knew we would have to come here. He _wants_ us to come here. Which is why we should make for the Gap of Rohan - he wouldn't expect it and if we can avoid his spies, he would not know."

"But like Aragorn said, it takes us too close to Isengard."

"Yet there are so few of us, we can stay out of sight easier, and make it by! From then on, it's straight to Gondor, and to Minas Tirith! The Ring would be safe!"

"The Ring is never safe, Boromir." Alandria reminded him. "Nor are those in it's company. There may be few of us, but that small number also guarantees that if we were to be spotted, death would be nearly immediate." She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. "This is the path that was chosen, and we must continue it."

"I wish only to help my country, Alandria. Not to betray you." He lowered his already low voice, and nodded slightly when she looked at him in alarm. "I know what you're thinking - that I want Frodo to come to Gondor so I can take the Ring, use it. Or worse yet, hand it straight to the enemy. That is not what I want, I assure you. I wish only to see my people again, and my family, and to help protect my country!"

"And how would you do that, my lord?" She demanded, her dark, leaf-green gaze turning hard. "I heard your words at Elrond's Council, I saw the way you looked at the Ring. What other power is there that you could think of using to restore your country? Now," Her face softened, along with her voice, and she sighed. "I know you can't think of betraying the Fellowship right now, and I would not go so far as to think you would, but remember - the Ring cannot help you, or Gondor, or anyone. You have to think of either one country, or the whole of Middle-earth. Those are the options, Boromir, and that is what you must keep in mind. The Ring will never help, unless it is destroyed."

He stared back at her for a long moment, soft grey eyes studying her, and she noticed for the first time that there were pale shimmers of green in the grey-blue depths. Finally, a slight, almost embarrassed smile touched his features. "You put up a very convincing argument, my lady."

Alandria smiled back, easing her position. "How else do you think I got here?" The laugh of the Steward's son was a warm chuckle, and his white smile flashed handsomely. She felt her face warm for reasons she couldn't clearly explain, and turned away in embarrassment. At that moment, a strained groaning and grinding of stone on stone jolted the entire Fellowship to attention, and everyone stared as the wall of rock opened into two large doors. The doors revealed an intimidating dark interior, which they could see little of. Gandalf urged them all inside, although Gimli did not need encouragement, and they wandered carefully into the dark depths. Alandria noticed an odd smell about the dark place; musty, and dank, but something else that was only vaguely familiar. She caught only the faint words of the Dwarf talking about the place being a mine, but Boromir's soft words were too clear beside her:

"This is no mine..it's a tomb." His words, and the glow of Gandalf's staff, illuminated the shadows of the great hall, and the small shapes that had been taken for rocks and rubble laying about showed their true appearances of corpses - many, many corpses. Small bodies with heavy armor, but still dead.

"No.." cried the Dwarf, his voice gaining his despair. "No! _Noo_!!"

"Goblins!" Cried Legolas, after observing an arrow pulled from one of the bodies.

Swords were drawn, glances exchanged, and Boromir spoke carefully, watching Aragorn as he did so. "We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here...Now get out of here. Get out!"

The company began backing away from the stone chamber littered with bodies, and then all turned in surprise when Frodo cried out. Alandria couldn't see him, but saw Sam run towards the lake, followed by Merry and Pippin, and her, along with the rest of the Fellowship, hurried after. There was the sound of water crashing, and the piercing cry of the Ring Bearer rang in all their ears. The hobbits were clustered around Frodo, who lay in the midst of them, until they yelled for help.

"Strider!" One of the hobbits cried, and the Ranger surged forward. He and the hobbits were easily knocked aside however by long, bizarre tentacles. Alandria balked, seeing a huge dark creature of tentacles and a huge mouth of gaping teeth amidst the mysterious lake, and dangling from one of the many tentacles was Frodo. He hung up side down, yelling for help. Slashing with his strong sword and twisting to avoid being caught up in a tentacle himself, Aragorn rushed forward. Legolas fired arrows at an alarming rate, careful to stay a safe distance from the deadly monster's many arms. Alandria did not see anyone else other than Boromir after that, as she followed close beside him to the midst of the cold, dark water and towards the huge creature. She drew her broad sword, smiling grimly at the pleasant feeling of the blade in her palm, and swung smoothly, ducking just in time to avoid a lash of long, wet, tentacle. Her steel thrust into an arm and was nearly wrenched from her hands before she pulled with all of her power, and tore the sword through the wet skin, cutting the arm nearly off. It swung wildly for a moment, before falling off by it's own accord. Another tentacle swept at her from the side, catching her off-guard, and toppling her over into the freezing water. It was dark and suffocating-feeling, almost as if the lake itself were trying to drag her under. But she forced herself back to her feet, just in time to see Frodo fall from his height in the air and into the strong arms of the Gondorian. Alandria scrambled to her feet, careful to still avoid the writhing and deadly monster of the water, and followed after the Fellowship as they rushed into Moria, their only escape. Rocks seemed to try and grab her feet, to take her back to the enraged creature, but she managed to stumble after the rest of the company, into the dark.


	5. They Are Coming

**Thank you so, so much for all the reviews everyone! It's great to know my story is being enjoyed :) _Odilyn23_it's funny that you should ask me not to let Boromir die, because I'm actually having a VERY difficult time deciding whether or not to follow Tolkien's plotline...so I'm not guaranteeing anything, but either way, I hope you all stick around for the ending! Please let me know what you all think of this chapter, I should have the next one up soon!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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As they all flooded into the Mine of Death, a terrifyingly loud roaring and crashing came from behind them, urging the company forward even more, and then what light had come from the moon and stars behind them was shut away. The great monster had gripped the doors of Moria in it's strong tentacles and ripped, tearing down the entrance to the mines, locking them inside and forcing them to go forward in the tomb. The mine was blacker than night, for the stars were not there to be seen by. It was dark and musty, and Alandria knew now the other smell she had noticed was that of death. Being locked in with so many corpses and no explanation to their expiration sent a chill of disturbance up her spine, and she wished dearly that she could see Boromir, and be sure he was safe with her.

"We now have but one choice." The deep voice of Gandalf broke their frightened silence, and with a stamp of his staff, a pale light was cast forth. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world." And he set forth wearily, Legolas, Gimli, and the hobbits following, then Aragorn and Alandria behind him, in front of Boromir. She was nervous, wet, and cold in the dark, wary of what the Wizard spoke of. For whatever may be hidden in the depth of the mines the Fellowship was almost certain to meet, locked in the darkness with it. Gandalf told them it was a four day journey to the other side, and his words made her only more uneasy. "Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

The light from the wizard's staff offered little comfort in the darkness surrounding them, but it did prevent any from stumbling over the rotting corpses spread about everywhere. Gandalf led the company on, rarely ceasing, but none minded, for the dark death of Moria set them all at ill-ease. So onward they strode, through halls and caverns, and past a deep chasm that glowed with the faint light of _mithril_. Until, at last, they halted. Gandalf stood before his companions and gazed at three large arcs of stone, each leading down a different path. Alandria waited slightly impatiently, hoping he was only regaining his bearings, but his words ruined her faint hope.

"I have no memory of this place."

His words did not fall gently on any's ears, but as he was their only way out and had led them this far as safe as he could, to complain would certainly be unwise. So a few of them exchanged glances of unease, before obeying the Wizard and settling down to let him think. Aragorn and Boromir started a small fire with what scraps they could find laying nearby, and it too helped shield the others from the darkness. Legolas and the Ranger stayed near the fire, Aragorn with his pipe and Legolas gazing thoughtfully into the black depths of the mine. Gimli and the hobbits settled themselves between the Elf, the Man, and the Wizard, all wary and tired. Gandalf sat alone, before the dark pathways that so troubled him, straining to remember. Alandria sat a short distance away from the rest of the company, not too far from the warm light of the fire but far enough so as to think peacefully, and dream of the homeland she was just beginning to miss. Presently the tall figure of Boromir joined her, easing himself quietly beside her on the stones.

"I hope you are not weary of my company." He commented softly, a faint, weary smile on his features.

Alandria reflected his expression easily. "Nay, my lord, I welcome it. Too often it seems I separate myself from the Fellowship. It is comforting to have at least one force their company on me."

His smile grew wider, showing proud teeth and softening his grey gaze. "I am glad to know I have at least one use then, my lady." He fell silent for a moment, bowing his head and watching his large hands deftly play with a small knife. "Why do you separate yourself, my lady, if I may be so bold to ask?" He spoke again, words soft and nearly unheard.

Alandria remained silent for a moment, not afraid to answer but unsure why he bothered with the question. "Just to think, I suppose." She answered finally. "I feel out of sorts in this grand of company, among such men as I could only imagine, and I am yet but a woman from Rohan. In the midst of Isildur's Heir, and the Captain of Gondor, and the Grey Wizard, and others such as proud, I do not quite belong. My mind is less troubled by the peoples around me when I am alone, and there I can clearly think. That is all, my lord." She fell silent, awaiting whatever reply.

"A curious answer you give, my lady. Perhaps not approved by myself, but understood in the end. But if it is not wrong for me to say, Alandria, I believe you have a place amongst this Fellowship same as does anyone around you. Status in the world of Middle-earth was not the standard for such a journey." She had not met his gaze as she herself spoke, but when he answered her, she found she could not resist watching the fair words leave his lips. So proud and strong and beautiful he was, this Son of Gondor. And, strangely, it seemed as though he had appointed himself her Watcher - for which she did not complain. She flushed, rather, and more so as he continued his speech. "And at the door before, by the lake, you proved yourself nearly more worthy for this mission than I. That creature in the dark water nearly ceased even the strong heart of Gondor, yet you held your own, by your own. That is a feat I would not have expected from one so fair. Whom did teach you to be so brave?"

Alandria bowed her head modestly, surprised by such praise coming from the soldier before her. "My lady Èowyn, niece of King Thèoden did, sir. She is a powerful woman, and mighty strong with a sword. She took me up when I showed interest, after the attacks started happening." She paused, then added with a slight smile. "In secret."

"Ah, then you have learned quickly, and very well." Boromir smiled softly, his morning-grey eyes easing the feared darkness around her.

"Thank you, my lord. It is the words of a king to have your praise."

"Why, you over speak, my lady. But you are worthy of such words, I assure you." His deep voice was soft and almost unconsciously his hand brushed hers, his fingers rough and warm. Alandria looked up in surprise, her green gaze meeting his blue-grey, but their peace was interrupted.

"It's that way." Gandalf spoke suddenly, guesturing towards one of the stone doorways.

"He's remembered!" Smiled Merry, scrambling to his feet after a drag from his pipe, closely followed by the rest of the Fellowship.

"No," Argued Gandalf. "The air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose." He then set his great grey hat about his head and led them down a dark staircase of stone for a fair distance, until they came upon a wide hall. Alandria gazed at it in wonder, as did each of the other companions, and revelled in the intricate work of the Dwarves, hundreds of feet high. Grand pillars towered above them all, and the vast darkness stretched in all directions to lengths she could not even guess. They walked slowly, surveying the grand artistry around them with care, until Gimli cried out and rushed towards a doorway in which a faint light could be seen.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called after him, and then followed.

Alandria entered to see the Dwarf fall to his knees before a stone coffin, his sobs pleading a different end for his cousin, and echoing throughout the large room.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria." The wizard read the inscription upon the stone. "He is dead then. It is as I feared." The old man then noticed a book clasped in the hands of a dead man, and released it from the corpse's hold to open to pages. Alandria heard a soft whisper to her right, and glanced over to see the Elf Legolas murmur something to Aragorn, who nodded slightly but gave no other indication. Then Gandalf began to read. " 'They have taken the bridge..and the seventh hall..we have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long..the ground shakes..drums..drums in the deep..we cannot get out..a shadow moves in the dark..we cannot get out....they are coming.' "

Then a crash that jolted all out of their wary haze shattered the silence, and all eyes turned to the curious Pippin, who turned away from a corpse sitting upon a well. The head of the body had fallen, and only a moment later the body went as well, followed by an iron chain and bucket. The sounds clanged and clashed and echoed for what seemed like ages, until finally, all fell silent. None dared breathe. They all stayed frozen, listening carefully for any sound, until Gandalf slapped shut the dusty book he still held and stepped towards Pippin.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!" And then the sound they all prayed not to hear. Drums. Drums, and shrieks, and cries of foul creatures. The sounds echoed through the hollow halls of Moria, and each drum beat struck more fear into them all.

"Orcs!" Cried Legolas, recognizing the shrieking voices.

Boromir stepped away from Alandria's side, and rushed towards the open doors behind them. He looked out for a moment, then snapped his head back in time to avoid being struck by arrows. The deadly darts stuck in the wood beside him, and he quickly slammed shut the wooden doors. Alandria rushed to his aid, Aragorn and Legolas following. "They have a cave troll." Commented the Gondorian dryly, his breath short from the surprise of arrows. Quickly the four of them locked abandoned weapons and pieces of wood into place behind the door, hoping to hold it shut for a short while longer. They hurried back to guard the hobbits, Legolas and Aragorn drawing an arrow on their bowstrings, Boromir and Alandria unsheathing their swords.

"Argh! Let them come!" Cried Gimli, who stood atop the tomb of his cousin. "There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

The creatures had since reached the door and were slamming their bodies against it, hacking at it with their weapons. Sharp blades and axes pierced the old wood, tearing aways pieces of the barrier. Legolas released his arrow and it stuck in a body with a shriek. Aragorn's followed, felling another creature. Alandria felt hot, the adrenaline and fear combining in her blood, preparing her for the battle. She shifted the blade in her hand and took a breath, just as the doors burst open.

Orcs flooded in, screaming and each wielding weapons. Both Legolas and Aragorn fired their bows again, taking down two more adversaries, and then the rush of battle was upon her and she focused no longer on the others. With a smooth swipe of her arm, her sword cut down an orc. She turned her wrist to point the blade to the side, jabbing into the cheap armor of another creature, before tearing to the side and through the creature's stomach. She heard noise behind her and, knowing there were too many and they could easily over whelm her one sword, she drew from her hip a long knife, bearing it in her other hand. Alandria turned and faced the opponent that had been behind her, blocking it's blow with her sword, and then thrusting the knife into it's throat. She spun at another sound, and struck down the orc behind her with her sword, pulling her knife from the other body simultaneously. Screams echoed everywhere in the death-filled room, and foul bodies pressed all around. Alandria easily blocked orcs' attacks with her stout sword and strong knife, slicing one orc across the stomach and then stabbing it firmly in the chest, quickly ripping her weapons out to continue fighting. But a roar broke the shrieking chaos, and froze her attacks. The cave troll.


	6. New Devilry

**Thank you so much again everyone, for the reviews and support. It really helps me keep this story going! I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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It charged through the stone doorway, breaking the rock with ease, and roared at them all. It had about it's throat a collar of strong iron, and a large chain hung from it, in the hands of small orcs. The creature held a large blunt weapon and swung wildly, roaring furiously all the while. Legolas fired an arrow into it's chest, but the creature merely clutched at the wound and yelled again, before swinging at Sam, who stood before it. Alandria threw herself aside to avoid the sword of an orc, and brought her own weapon across it's arm, then into the stomach. She flicked her knife with deadly ease at one of the monsters that stood but a few feet away, and then blocked an opposing blow, using her fist against the orc's face to deter it. The creature stumbled back slightly, giving her the time to wrench her long knife from the corpse and thrust it into the other orc. She paused for a breath, and turned at the roar of the troll. Her heart seemed to stall when she saw the thick chain of it's leash had tangled around the arm of the Steward's son, and then she cried out when the autumn-haired man was flung against the solid stone wall, before falling to the ground. Savagely now, Alandria sliced and thrust and cut away those who stood in her path, her thick leather tunic immune to any stray knicks or scrapes.

"Boromir!" She forced her way through to the fallen man, and knelt beside him just as he raised himself to his elbows, shaking his head in dizziness. There was a line of blood down the front of his Gondorian wear, but she could not tell if it was from him or an orc.

"I am alright." He reassured her, but let her help him back to his feet. "I'm fine. Go. Fight." He encouraged her once he was stable, and nudged her back towards the chaos still proceeding around them. She watched him in concern for a moment more, but he turned to strike down an orc and she was swept back towards battle again.

Alandria sliced and cut, wary of the roars that still shattered the air but unable to focus on them, when she caught a brief glimpse of a curly hobbit head, and then several dark forms of orcs surrounding it. With a yell, she slashed through an orc in her path and then into the group surrounding the hobbit. It was Pippin, and he was doing well for such a small creature, but Alandria knew he could not hold off his adversaries much longer. She swung her sword through the neck of one orc, and then thrust her knife up into the stomach of another, before spinning and slicing yet another from the shoulder to the leg. She turned and slid the darkened blade of her sword into one's chest, before stopping for a breath, seeing no more creatures attacking the hobbit before her.

"Thank you, milday." Pippin gasped, out of breath as well, green eyes wide.

Alandria nodded briefly in return. "Find Merry and the others, Pippin, they may need your help." He nodded, and slipped easily through the dark crowd. She turned then and came face to face with the back of a large shield, an arm holding it, and then two thuds sounding off it. Boromir lowered the shield he had held in front of her and Alandria saw two arrows lying on the ground, harsh and black. She saw the two marks they had left on the shield of Gondor, and swallowed uneasily, imagining the marks they would have left in her. He had just saved her life. Alandria nodded a shaky thank-you, and he returned it quickly, before fighting off another orc that had approached. Alandria held still for a moment to slow her heart beat, before hearing a shriek from far too nearby and spinning with her knife, slicing open the throat of an approaching orc. She winced slightly at the disgusting warmth of the black blood that spattered across her, then froze in the sudden silence, seeing Aragorn and Sam on the ground, beside a fallen Frodo. The troll lay dead nearby, riddled with arrows and cuts. Alandria rushed over to the seemingly dead hobbit, then slowed when Frodo began to gasp, and sat up. She could see the mark of a stab through his shirt, and a spiked spear lie nearby. He should have been dead, if it had indeed been thrust into him. And then the shine of delicate _mithril_ answered their unspoken questions.

"You are full of surprise, Master Baggins." Complimented Gimli, eyeing the _mithril_ shirt with approval and respect.

More sounds came from behind them then, sounds of rushed feet and jostling armor and weapons. Shadows of still more orcs flashed eerily on the stone walls. Gandalf watched the shadows in fear for a moment, before turning back to them. "To the bridge of Khazad-Dùm!" He instructed, and they quickly followed.

The Fellowship ran as fast as their legs would carry them out of the tomb, and back into the vast stone halls. Shrieks and cries of orcs and goblins echoed around them, chasing them it seemed. Alandria brought up the rear of the group with Aragorn, staying close to the hobbits in hope they might be able to protect them. She glanced behind as they ran, and her heart beat faster as she saw the hundreds of creatures following. They came from the floors, and then shrieks were heard from above as they leaked out of the ceilings, the numbers never seeming to cease. Still they followed the light of Gandalf's staff, and the golden glow of the torch Boromir now held, until Gandalf came to a stop. The company stumbled to a halt around him, and they realized they were surrounded by the hundreds of foul creatures. They circled together, backs facing each other and weapons held outward, but they knew there was no hope. Then a grating growl bore over the shrill cries of goblins.

Alandria thought she had imagined it for a moment, until the sound came again. She did not recognize such a thunderous, dark growl, but the creatures of Moria did, and quickly disappeared with shrieks of fear. Gimli seemed pleased at the goblins' retreat, as if they had something to do with it. But the ominous growl sounded again, and chilled the blood of them all. It was a sound that sunk straight through a person, shaking every nerve they had. She then noticed a fiery glow leaking from the edges on the dark hall, and it flickered like a giant unseen flame. Legolas had his bow and arrow at the ready, although something informed Alandria that the Elf's arrows would not protect them. The hobbits were clearly frightened, shifting uneasily and their breathing irregular. She herself was nervous, reflecting the appearance of the rest of the company; sword in hand, muscles tense.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir murmured to the Wizard, his voice weak.

Gandalf closed his eyes as if in thought, remaining silent. The flaming glow that shined across the grand stone pillars spread, growing larger and closer, and Alandria fought for enough self control not to step away, or flee entirely. "A Balrog." The Grey Wizard finally answered quietly. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of us..Run!" He then yelled, and urged them further down the now empty mines.

They ran with a speed the threat of goblins had not given them, terrified of this unknown foe. Through hallways and a stone corridor, the company ran. Red-gold light lit the walls as Alandria followed and she turned the corner just in time to see Legolas grab ahold of Boromir, who stood teetering on the edge of short stairs, before they fell back towards the company. The hobbits stumbled to a quick stop, staring down into the abyss in terror, and then followed by the rest of the group. Alandria froze, gazing into the vast cavern they were now in, littered with crumbling half-stairways and sharp drop-offs. They paused, waiting for Gandalf to lead them on, but Alandria turned, hearing the Wizard yell.

"Do as I say!" He cried, and she saw him push the dark Ranger away. "Swords are no more use here!"

The rust-haired Captain of Gondor led them on down steep stone stairs, moving quickly and carefully. He paused then, approaching a large gap in their path. Legolas easily leaped across, landing smoothly on his light feet, and then waited as Gandalf hesitated to follow. The weathered old man glanced behind them, until Legolas called his name and gestured encouragement. The Wizard jumped across, and was stabled by the Elf. Alandria readied herself to follow, but was stopped in surprise when strong hands grabbed ahold of her. She turned to look at who grasped her, but only caught a glimpse of red cloth and chain mail before she was powerfully thrust across the stair's void. Her landing was hard, and she stumbled into the light, strong hold of the Elf. She turned then, and spotted the Gondorian nearest to the edge. He was surely the one to have tossed her, and was about to get ahold of Merry and Pippin to leap when an arrow whistled at his feet. More wooden darts followed, and Aragorn and Legolas quickly drew their own bows, returning the shots. As they worked to fell goblin archers, Boromir grasped the two small hobbits in his care and leapt, landing heavily and caught by Alandria and Gandalf. Aragorn then tossed Sam, and Alandria caught him easily. Gimli made a sign to Aragorn not to be tossed, and jumped himself across the gap. His feet hit the edge of the stairs and in desperation, Legolas grabbed ahold of the Dwarf's beard to stable him.

"Not the beard!" Cried the hairy little man, but Legolas paid no other heed than to pull the Dwarf further onto the stairs. Then with a sharp crack, followed by a rumbling crumble, pieces of the stairway Aragorn and Frodo now stood on broke away. They scrambled to escape the chunks of stone disappearing beneath their feet, and managed to stand shakily when another terrifying sound echoed throughout the cavern. It was no longer an ominous growl but a hoarse roar, and it was nearer, the fiery light appearing in doorways. The sound and creature caused more pieces of the grand Dwarf work to fall and crumble, until a large weight of stone crushed through Aragorn and Frodo's stairs, leaving them stranded on a small island of steps. The piece of ground began to waver, and then lean back and forth, causing it's two riders to stumble. Aragorn held tight to the Ring Bearer, and after a moment of careful balancing, they leaned forward delicately. The piece of stairs rushed forward, until it collided with the path the rest of the Fellowship waited upon. Legolas caught his Ranger friend, and Boromir held tight to the hobbit. They were quickly released, and the company turned swiftly, fleeing the deadly stairs and grinding roar of the creature that had awoken.

They fled through another immense hall, past large flames of nearly unbearable heat. Still they ran, but paused when a deep roar of mixed thunder and flame sounded just behind them. Alandria stared in horror as a monstrous creature formed from the wall of fire - tall, broad, mixed of shadows and flame. Gandalf stared back at it for a moment, until the creature, the Balrog, leaned down and roared yet again. Finally finding control over the heated horror that flooded each of their bodies, the company began to run again. Soon they were upon the narrow bridge of Khazad-Dùm, an intimidatingly thin stretch of stone that crossed an endless black void below it. There was no time to hesitate, no time to grow nervous at the deep, deep black beneath the frail-looking bridge. Onward they rushed, Aragorn leading them across, followed by Boromir, and Alandria followed him closely, refusing to look down. The Gondorian reached the far side and when she drew near, he reached out to pull her to him, to safety. The hobbits were close behind and the men helped them to stability. One by one the Fellowship crossed, until they realized one lagged behind.

Gandalf stood still on the bridge, facing the dark creature of fire. "You cannot pass!" He yelled, deep voice carrying to each of the company.

"Gandalf!" Cried Frodo, and Alandria felt weak in hearing the despair in the little man's voice and knowing what was likely to Balrog stood taller before the Wizard, and flames of gold leapt up across it's body, glowing ever brighter.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun!" In the creature's claw-like hand a great fiery blade appeared, and struck down upon the Wizard, who wielded his sword and glowing staff. The great blade shattered into sparks upon collision with the Wizard's white power, and the creature roared in fury. Alandria and the rest of the company could only watch in awed horror. "Go back to the shadow!" Gandalf ordered, but the monster took a powerful step of smoky shadow onto the bridge, towards the old Wizard, and a blazing whip emerged in it's grasp, snapping like lightening in the air. "You shall not pass!" Cried the Wizard, and with a thrust of his wooden staff upon the stone of the bridge, a wave of white light struck out. The Balrog was not moved and lunged towards his opponent, roaring in heated fury. Then with a crunch, the bridge gave way under the fiery creature's foot, and he plunged down quicker than any expected. His flaming cry screamed at them all, but still he fell to the darkness in which he so belonged. Gandalf stood for a moment at the bridge's edge, weary and worn. He watched his adversary fall, and then turned back to join those who watched so helplessly. But with unforseen swiftness, the whip of fire snapped up towards the Wizard and grasped his foot, pulling him sharply back to the bridge. The man fell forward and grasped at the edge of the bridge, fighting to hold on as the better weight of his body dangled into thick black death.

Frodo rushed forward to his dear friend, but was caught in the strong arms of Boromir before he could go far. "Gandalf!" The hobbit cried, his voice painful to bear as the Gondorian yelled at him to stay. Gandalf struggled to pull himself up for a moment more, before ceasing his movements and staring at them all.

"Fly, you fools." He breathed, before releasing the edge of the bridge and disappearing from their lives, into darkness.

"_Nooo!!_"Screamed the Ring Bearer, his cry piercing the horrified silence that now surrounded them. He struggled against the bonds of the man's arms, and screamed for his fallen comrade unceasingly. Alandria stood beside Aragorn and mirrored his expression, staring at the darkness with disbelieving horror and pain. An arrow whistling near her head caught her attention, and she became vaguely aware that she needed to leave, and follow the rest of the company out to the safety of daylight. She turned as if in a dream, and followed closely behind Merry and Pippin, hurrying them forward. She heard the yell of Boromir behind her as he urged the numbed Ranger to flee as well, and then she was out of the mines. The light of day offered no comfort as she had expected, however. For now the Fellowship was one less.


	7. You Cannot Go Back

**Again, thank you everyone for the reviews and for adding the story to your favourites! _Nameless Helper_, oddly enough, in this chapter and the next there will be some mention of Alandria's Rohan-blood :) Anyway, I'm really not sure about this chapter, it just seemed a little weird to write, to me..let me know what you think...also, sorry it took so long to get up for being so short, but that's basically because I got carried away and nearly completed the next chapter too, which is much longer than this one. So that should be up very shortly :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Stumbling across the mounds of rock and towards the boulders where the other members of the Fellowship dwelt, Alandria noticed breathing seemed difficult, and her sight seemed to tilt dangerously. Somehow she forgot how to stand, and collapsed onto the rough surface of a nearby stone. Her knees ached in protest to the harsh and sudden contact, but she didn't care. Gandalf the Grey was gone. Their friend and their adviser, even protector, had fallen to his death. And they were on their own. Alandria looked around blankly at the peoples fallen around her: Merry and Pippin were holding each other, sobbing; Sam's body shook with choked tears as he held his head in his hands; Boromir bowed his head as he restrained the roaring Dwarf from going back to the mines, his restraint nearly an embrace; even the normally passive face of the Elf was tinged with sorrow and disbelief. Only Aragorn showed almost no emotion, his muscular features hard and solemn, in something like a grimace. Frodo was not to be seen.

"Legolas," Aragorn called. "Get them up." The Elf stared numbly for a moment as if uncomprehending, and then slowly made his way over to Merry and Pippin to get them to their feet.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Cried Boromir, his smooth voice shaking and his eyes rimmed red.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Argued the Ranger, and the Gondorian stared for a moment before bowing his head in defeat, or in sorrow. Perhaps both. "We must reach the woods of Lothlòrien. Come Boromir, Legolas. Gimli! Get them up!" Aragorn ordered, moving swiftly and smoothly across the rocky terrain. "On your feet, Sam." He lifted the hobbit to his feet, patting his chest in reassurance. "Frodo?" Alandria heard him ask, and only then truly registered the fact that she had not seen the Ring Bearer weeping anywhere nearby. She saw the small hobbit several yards away, walking from the Fellowship and on his own. Aragorn saw him too, and called his name again. "Frodo!" The hobbit stopped then, and slowly turned. His childish features were tormented and pained, his large blue eyes tinged red and tears streaking down his dirt-stained face. The sight was painful, and Alandria had to turn away.

Once Aragorn managed to retrieve the grieving hobbit, he had them moving immediately. Their jogging towards the forest of Lothlòrien seemed to be unorganized stumbling, not unlike wounded animals, for that they were. Yet they eventually regained a rhythm of walking, although their new, dark-haired leader insisted on jogging ahead himself. Boromir eventually appeared beside Alandria and pressed a hand to her back in mild comfort, before making sure his two little charges were moving quickly and comfortably. She wanted to smile, seeing the way he took care of the usually cheerful hobbits, but her face would not allow such action. Instead she pressed grimly on with the rest of them, until the green shadows of Lothlòrien took them over.

Aragorn led them carefully through the forest, silent, but not appearing frightened. The Dwarf was a different story. "Stay close, young hobbits. They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods. An Elf-Witch, of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell." The stout man grasped his axe firmly, watching the mysterious woods warily. Alandria watched in confusion as the Ring Bearer glanced to his side sharply, as if he heard something, then twisted around another direction, his young features frightened. "And are never seen again.." Continued the Dwarf.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked his master when he stopped, looking around with confusion and fear.

"Well," The Dwarf began again. "Here's one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!...oh." He words ceased as several sharp and elegant arrows appeared before his face. Alandria jumped when two bows appeared aimed at her as well, and backed up, only to bump into the broad soldier of Gondor, who too had a pointed death upon him. Legolas stood his ground, his own bow drawn and arrow set. But one bow on their side would do nothing for protection.

A fair Elf with nearly white-blond hair stepped forward, a faint smile on his face. "The Dwarf breathed so loud, we could have shot him in the dark."

Gimli growled quietly, but Aragorn seemed unfazed. Instead he bowed, and then spoke urgently to the Elf in their own tongue. Alandria understood nothing, nor did the others, but Gimli insisted that they turn back.

"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back. Come, She is waiting." The Elf turned then, and the company was forced to follow him into the forest. Soon however night fell, and they were forced to make a small camp in the company of the Elves, upon one of their great outposts in the trees. The hobbits were uncomfortable with the height, and truthfully it unnerved even Alandria. Yet she stayed silent as they ceased their trek, and waited wearily as formalities were exchanged between Aragorn, Legolas, and the Elf of Lothlòrien - Haldir, Aragorn called him.

Alandria was content to stand beside Boromir - the blood seeping from a wound on his hand not unnoticed by her eyes - and listen silently to the beautiful Elven speech exchanged. Not all of the company was pleased though, and Gimli dared voice his discomfort. Haldir gazed down at the Dwarf in distaste, and tension filled the heavy air. Dwarven words Alandria did not understand were uttered from the ruffled Dwarf, and Aragorn grabbed him by the shoulder for a scolding. Haldir seemed unfazed, and strode forward to further examine their company. Alandria turned her head away at the critical gaze, knowing it all too well but still uneasy beneath it - the doubt of a woman in such a predicament.

"A woman, in your company?" Haldir asked, pausing to eye Alandria before glancing at Aragorn in question. "You are aware of this?"

"Aye." Aragorn replied evenly. "She is from Rohan."

"A Rider of the Mark, is she? Without a horse?" The Elf smiled slightly, and Alandria clenched her in jaw in frustration, fighting to stay quiet. Her Watcher did not have the same courtesy.

"She is a warrior same as you and any of us!" The deep voice of Gondor rumbled at her side. "Do not call odd that you don't know."

"It is alright Boromir, I am used to it." She muttered quietly, for only him to hear.

"My brother of Gondor speak true." Aragorn interrupted. "She has proved her worth to be great and her sword strong. Her horse had to be relieved of our company when we crossed terrain and perils it could not face, but mistake her for none other than a Rider." He paused for a moment, observing his Elf-friend closer. "Haldir of the Golden Wood, friend, what times have changed you to question this?"

The Elf met the Ranger's gaze evenly and answered smoothly. "These times, Lord Aragorn. Just look around you." Aragorn made no move or reply in return and Haldir turned to continue his observation of the remnants of the Fellowship, but paused once more, glancing at Boromir and then down at Alandria. "Peace, friends. I meant no harm or disrespect. These are only the times for such."

Boromir made no move other than to stare boldly back at the Elf, and Alandria bowed her head slightly. "Peace." Haldir nodded, and began his inspection once more.

When he came upon Frodo though, Haldir's silent footsteps stopped, and a mix of awe, anger, and fear crept into his gaze. Alandria knew he could feel the weight and presence of the Ring just as surely as they all could. "You bring great evil with you." He murmured, then turned to Aragorn and spoke quickly. "You can go no further."

As the Elf declared, rather than continue to the Elves' city, what remained of the Fellowship was told to make themselves comfortable on the dark wooden platform while Aragorn and Haldir discussed the problem of Frodo and the Ring. Legolas and Gimli stood - although several paces away from each other - and gazed out upon the dark beauty of the forest; Merry and Pippin sat by themselves to talk quietly; Sam sat alone, his master wanting no company in his grief. Alandria sat in what had become nearly her expected place - at the side of the soldier of Gondor, only a few steps in front of the Ring Bearer. She persuaded Boromir to let her look at his injured hand, and delicately removed his leather glove, then turned his hand to observe it in the pale Elven lights. The cut slashed from his forefinger nearly to the edge of his wrist, but was not deep, only still bleeding from his excessive movement. He remained silent as she aided him, but when she ripped a sleeve from a spare shirt to use as a bandage, his deep voice broke the quiet.

"Gandalf's death was not in vain." He said softly, and she glanced up in confusion, only to realize he was talking to the distraught Frodo, not her. "Nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. Do not carry the weight of the dead." His voice was soft and rich, reassuring at least to Alandria, but the Ring Bearer seemed untouched.

Frodo's numbness to the rest of the Fellowship and Boromir's words was not strange though, and Alandria knew why. She could feel it too. The weight of the Ring was wearing on them all now, and more and more it's dark, promised lies slipped through the cracks in her mind. It wanted her to have it, and she almost wanted it. Almost. But she knew better, had heard the stories, saw what it was doing to Frodo. The darkness the Ring was made of seemed to be settling over the entire company, more so since Gandalf was taken from them. At her thoughts, the bandage she was tying on the hand of the Steward's son tightened too much, and he shifted uncomfortably. Alandria muttered an apology, and then glanced up to see him watching the Ring Bearer, and remembered - not for the first time - Elrond's council in Rivendell. She remembered his immediate attraction to the Ring, his fascination with it's power, and his want to take it to Gondor. Surely such attraction had not gotten any less. But even more surely, the soldier knew better. He knew more than she did about the Ring, about what it could do. He was more powerful than her, stronger, wiser. He would not give in to such lies.

The urgent, hushed flow of Elvish from Aragorn and Haldir ceased then, and the Elf stepped towards the company. "You will follow me."

Alandria was surprised at the Elf's agreement to take them into the Wood, but said nothing, only followed. They walked further than she would have expected, yet it could have continued to go on for nearly an eternity and she would not have minded. The trees were tall, silver of bark and beautiful in leaf-coloring, and the forest itself felt soothing. Elves drifted through the surrounding trees, always careful and watchful of the arrivals, yet the beauty could not be swayed. And it only increased the further into Lorien they went, the denser the trees became, and the more dream-like it all seemed. Houses, in trees. Elegant, silver, glow-like, beautiful houses above them rested among immense tree limbs, and then stairs swirled up the trunk of the trees as well. The Fellowship was led up a set of elegant stairs, through the trees and past the beautiful houses. Alandria stared in awe at the unfathomable and unforgettable glory surrounding them, and only came to attention when their walking stopped.

They stood at the bottom of a flight of stairs, and soon appeared two radiant, fair-clothed Elves. The man had the long blond hair that seemed so abundant amongst his kind, and his firm features were both beautiful and powerful. Beside him was a lady fair beyond any Alandria had seen before. Her pale skin was like sun-tinted snow, her golden hair like waves of sunrises, and the beauty of her face was that of the sun and moon and stars, captured and brought together to create one single beautiful being. Her deep blue eyes were like the ocean, and the only sign of what age she held inside her. But it was not age in the deep blue pools, but wisdom and knowing of all things. Alandria felt the urge to bow, but contained herself long enough for the striking man to speak.

"The enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Nine, there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land." The radiant Elf-lady spoke, Galadriel of Lothlorien, Alandria knew she was. Her voice was deeper than Alandria had expected, and in it she could hear the vast knowledge the Elf held. "He has fallen into shadow." All Elves nearby, including the Elf Lord Celeborn and Galadriel herself, seemed shocked by this revelation.

"He was taken by both shadow and flame." Legolas answered gently. "A Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life." Galadriel replied. "We do not yet know it's full purpose." She turned her wise gaze to Gimli kindly and spoke softly, now. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-Dum fill your heart, Gimli, son of Gloin, for the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief.." The beautiful Lady turned her deep, knowing gaze from Gimli to Boromir, holding him in her sights.

Alandria stood beside the Gondorian and felt him shake, his strong body trembling and his breath quiet but gasping. She looked up at him in alarm, only just in time to see him tear his pale eyes away from the Elf, and bow his head. His breathing was ragged, and sweat glistened light across his brow. Alandria flushed with alarm and anger at whatever the Lady of Lothlòrien had done, and rested a hand on the chain-mail sleeve covering Boromir's arm, before gazing at the Elf Lady with anger. But as soon as her grass-green eyes met the deep, ocean blue of the Elf's, a powerful, elegant, and whispering voice filled her mind.

_What strength you believe the Fellowship has is failing. The one you believe to be strong is weakening. He wants It, and he cannot be saved._ The words hurt, they seared her mind and weakened her fading strength. She didn't want to hear any of it, but it would not go away._ Yet as long as the Ring is still in the hands of the Hobbit, there is a chance. There must always be a chance, or all will fall and shadow will claim everything._Alandria finally found the power to tear her gaze away, panting, and the voice in her head was silenced. Together, Rohan and Gondor stood, beaten and frightened by words of truth and terror they alone knew, and they heard no more of what was said.


	8. No Hope

**Okay, so something is _finally_ happening between Alandria and Boromir ;) I'm not real sure about this chapter however, and was/am rather worried it came out as too mushy or something..I re-wrote it several times though and continually edit pieces of it, and this is as comfortable as I've been with it, so I hope it doesn't disappoint...as always, please review and let me know what you think :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Although Alandria did not clearly listen to what else the Lady Galadriel said, she focused enough to notice when they started moving again. The company was guided to each their own tent, and given a wash, food and fresh clothes if they pleased. Then they were bidden to rest amongst themselves in a pale, grassy clearing, free to talk and sleep and be at ease. Alandria however was granted the privlege of her own small tent, for privacy from the men she had so long been surrounded by. The tent was small and white, set beneath a large tree. Inside the elegant dwelling lay a small, soft-looking bed, a basin and pitcher for water, and a small bowl of fresh fruits and breads. Awed by the simple splendor of the room, she released her long, dark brown hair from it's usual braid, and stood before the short table that held the water, basin and food. She poured some of the clear, cold water into the silver dish and waited for it to settle into a watery mirror. Carefully she observed her features in the liquid, taking in the details she already knew so well: the oval-ish face, the plane of her jaw, her full lips, straight nose, high cheek bones, and slender eyes; her dark, dark hair contrasting against her pale skin and grass-colored eyes. What stood out to her however were the details she did not regonize: the dark smudges of weariness beneath her eyes, the frown tugging at her mouth, and most obviously, the spatters and smears of dried, black blood on her white skin.

With a grimace, she quickly grabbed the towel beside the wash basin and dipped it into the cool water, bringing it to her face and wiping furiously at the death marks that tried to stain her features. They did not come off easily, the memories of the battle desperate to stay painted on her face. With another rough scrub of the dampened towel, the black spatters washed away. With heavy breaths from her sudden, urgent washing, Alandria lowered herself to the bed, relishing the comfort. However with the bed came a soft stab of sickness for her country and people. She missed the faces of those she knew, and the smell of horses and wind from the plains. She missed her King, for she had never said goodbye.

Alandria had not been entirely honest that first day she spoke with Boromir. King Thèoden had not granted her leave. But it was because he was not her same king anymore. His mind was weathering away, and he seemed to have aged too quickly; he was sick, in a way no one understood. So she bade leave herself, telling only the one she could trust, her lady Èowyn, where she was going. Now Alandria regretted such a rash decision, burdened with the knowledge she would likely never again see the plains of Rohan and the proud King Thèoden, the lady Èowyn, or lord Èomer. Was this what her soldier of Gondor had been suffering from? Yet worse, for he was a lord of his country, and had a family? She was but a mere lady-soldier, with none but her father, whom she had not seen since the sick Thèoden sent him away on duty. On the soft, warm bed of Lòrien she sat, her head bowed and cradled in her hands at her memories, when a small Elf maiden slipped into the tent.

"Lady Alandria," The Elf chimed, her voice like a soft bell. "A visitor wishes to enter."

Alandria looked up, confused, and then stood. "Ehm, yes. Yes, send them in." The frail Elf bowed her head slightly, and disappeared out the door. Alandria stared at the tent flap in puzzled curiousity, and straightened as her visitor stepped in. Her stoic expression and formal stance relaxed, and the breath she'd taken left her body in a soft sigh; it was the Captain of Gondor, cleaned and more handsome than before. He had washed, as was obvious from the cleanliness of his hair and disappearance of dirt and smears of orc-blood from his face, and although he had not shed his Gondorian wear, his fabrics held less dirt and fewer tears. His weapons, horn, and shield were not on his person, however, and he seemed to be missing part of himself in their absence. Yet still, he was glorious in her eyes. The Elven lights of Lorièn cast a silvery hue about him, causing him to appear somewhat kingly. But Alandria could not help but notice his head was bowed slightly, grey eyes averted from her view, and he seemed uneasy.

"Lord Boromir." She greeted, and still he did not look up at her. "My lord, is everything alright?"

"Pardon my intrusion, my lady, but I felt I needed to see you."

Her question was avoided by his words, and she tried again. "Lord Boromir, is something wrong? What has happened?"

He swallowed, still looking down, strong features impossible to read. "I could not rest with the others, and hoped for understanding in your company."

"Boromir, please, answer me." Her voice strained to get his attention. "Will you not tell me what could cause a Lord of Gondor to hide his face from a mere lady?"

Silence answered her for several moments. Silence that bore harsh upon them both, until the weary soldier shifted and sighed. He spoke, his voice trembling and soft, a tone Alandria was unused to. "I am frightened." He answered, barely a whisper, and raised his face at last. Frightened was not any sort of word Alandria would have used to describe the Gondorian before, but now as she saw him, frightened was indeed what he was. His features were distressed, mouth a too-firm line, jaw clenched too tightly, and his eyes were a tormented storm-grey.

"My lord..." Alandria began in unease, but he took a shaky breath and continued.

"Fear is not a word I often use, nor something I readily accept, but it is all I can say for what I feel." He took another shaky breath and looked away, struggling with something.

"My lord, what are you afraid of?" She asked her question gently, taking a careful step towards the tall man.

His gaze met hers again, like a stormy sea, and something inside them stirred her. "I heard her voice, in my head." He whispered, normally smooth voice cracking slightly. Alandria did not ask who's voice he heard, she knew too well. "She told me horrors of my country, of the fall of Gondor, and of my father. She told me of nightmares I wish never to see. And yet, she also told me there is still hope." His grey gaze strayed away, lost in thought. "But what hope she spoke of I do not understand, for I see none. There is no hope in my mind." He bowed his head again and took a deep, shuddering breath before uneasily meeting her green gaze again. "I am sorry. I do not know why I have come to bother you with such foolish fears. I am not-"

"I heard her too." Alandria interrupted, not wanting the troubled man to leave. Not when he was like this. "The Elf Lady, she spoke in my mind as well. She told not of the fall of my land though, but of-.." She stopped, catching her words.

"Of what, my lady?" Boromir asked gently, pale eyes tormented yet attention focused on her words.

"Of other things, is all." She finished pathetically, and could feel his eyes on her. She turned slightly away in shame, uncomfortable under his suddenly close gaze. "Boromir," She began softly, staring at the pale walls of the tent. "To save Middle-earth, to save our people and our countries, we must destroy the Ring in Mordor. Yet I feel such a task cannot be completed. With the fall of Gandalf, the Fellowship is not whole, and I do not believe it can be again. The Ring is changing us all, but we can fight it. We can try to do what is right, for all."

The Steward's son was quiet behind her for a long moment, until she heard the soft step of his feet. "Is that what She spoke of?" He asked gently, deep voice a soft rumble. "A task we already know? A loss we have already experienced? The breaking of the Fellowship? Is that it?" She did not answer as his raised level of voice caused her heart to beat faster. "Alandria, is that all she told you?!" Strong hands grasped her arms and turned her harshly around, causing her to flinch in surprise. Boromir's features were hard, and his eyes were dark, glinting with an anger that ran her blood cold. And then in an instant, he relased her as if she burned. He stumbled a step back, face a picture of disbelief and faint horror. "I..I am sorry." He stuttered. "I don't...please, forgive me."

Alandria stared at him for a long moment, feeling pity rather than anger or fear. The Captain of Gondor was fighting to defeat the evil the Ring was attempting to place on him. He was resisting, and it was hurting him. "The Lady Galadriel warned me that you were being drawn to the Ring." She murmured in defeat, watching his movements closely.

Boromir bowed his head, sighing softly. "I can neither confirm nor deny this statement." He answered finally, and looked back up into her eyes, features strong and stern.

Alandria nodded, understanding but not entirely comforted, and turned her back to him once more. She stepped over to the small dish of food and picked up a perfect golden apple, but studied it carefully rather than ate it. "I miss my country, Boromir." She spoke finally, her voice low in the soft silence surrounding them. "I miss my king, though his mind and body are failing; I miss my friend, Lady Èowyn; I miss the father I haven't seen in nearly a year; I miss the horses of the stable, and my sweet gelding Hwyndë; I miss the open plains." She sighed softly, setting the apple down but not facing the Gondorian. "The forests are beautiful, yes, but I am not meant for trees. I miss open spaces...spaces without fear, and without rushing. I miss what it feels like to ride leisurely across the gold grass, wind in my face...what do you miss, my lord?"

The Captain's answering voice was no longer weak and ashamed, but returned to it's usual deep, smooth, splendor. "I miss open plains as well, my lady. I miss my father, though not as much as my brother." He sighed, his voice soft and gentle. "I miss Faramir dearly. I did not want to leave him behind with my father, but I had no choice. The man is strong, a good fighter, but too diplomatic for my father's tastes. I never doubted the lad, but doubt was all my father had for him. I miss making my brother smile after an argument with my father, and I miss the jokes we could share." He smiled sadly, but Alandria did not see. "More so I miss my people, and my city. The White City of Gondor. Not even the silver woods of Lothlòrien compare in my eyes to the high white walls of Minas Tirith."

Alandria smiled slightly, trying to imagine such a place. "It must be very beautiful."

"Aye, it is. Very beautiful...as of late though the white walls seem grey, the stones are cracking, and shadow plagues the city. Still beautiful, but it will not last if Sauron is not defeated. We must defeat him, for I must see my city restored to its glory once more. You've no idea how beautiful it is, Alandria. If you could only see.."

His voice had wandered and faded, but he was nearer to her, she could feel it. Still she did not move. "I will see it someday, my lord, I am sure. If the journey of the Ring continues, perhaps we shall come across your country, and your White City."

"I should hope so. For it would be a pity for one of such beauty not to see a city that reflects it."

Alandria paused, her mind retracing the soldier's words. "Pardon, my lord?" She finally asked uneasily, and flinched again when his strong hands turned her around, holding tight to her arms. But now there was no anger in his pale eyes, and no frightful strength in his grasp; his hold was firm but gentle, his grey eyes soft and sad. He pulled her forward then, his strength undefeatable against her, and his mouth pressed to hers with an unexpected urgency. His lips were rough, unsure and forceful. Alandria wasn't sure how to react, having little experience in such an area and taken aback by his forcefulness. She managed to tear away after only a short moment, pressing her palms against his chest and shoving with what strength she had. He released her quickly, and tried to stare back at her, but bowed his head slightly after a matter of seconds. He swallowed, uncomfortable, and opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him as she stepped towards him again. Alandria looked up at the tall Gondorian, studying his handsome features carefully. He looked back down at her solemnly, serious and slightly nervous, watching her every movement.

"My lady," He murmured softly at last, voice wavering the slightest bit. "I..I am sorry. I wished to take from thee a pleasure which is..is not rightly mine - although I fear I am tormented without it. Please forgive my irrationality." She understood with the faintest of cautious smiles, then reached up a hand and brushed the side of his cheek, touching his red-brown hair, before grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down while she stood up on her toes, touching her lips back with his. This time he wasn't urgent and harsh, and his lips were gentle against hers. She breathed him in as their mouths connected, his lips skilled and quickly taking her breath. She broke away from him again, but only to find air before connecting with him once more. Boromir tilted his head and cradled her neck with one hand, taking deeper kisses from her and pulling her closer. Alandria let him have her, nervous at her inexperience, but revelling in the surprisingly pleasurable feelings he gave her. His touch was rough and warm, his lips gentle and soothing. She slid her hands up his muscled shoulders, feeling him tense beneath her touch, and then broke their kiss swiftly at the thoughts that ran briefly through her mind.

She did not look at him and did not kiss him again, only breathed heavily and tried to clear her head. Such thoughts were not for her to have, not in times as these and not with the Steward's son. The Steward's son! Alandria pushed him away again and stepped back, still having difficulty regaining the air and strength he'd taken from her, and silently cursed her foolishness. He said nothing and did nothing, and his shoulders shook slightly as he took a deep breath, lifted his head, and turned to look to the side, as if seeing something else. Alandria watched him in curiousity, his firm features not as they should be.

"Forgive me." The deep voice of Gondor was barely able to be heard, no strength in it. Alandria did not answer him, and he bowed his head once more, taking a quick gasp of air as his autumn-colored hair hid his features. When he did not speak again, and did not look up, she grew nervous.

"Lord Boromir?" She asked softly, daring to take a step closer to him. "I hold nothing against you, my lord. I only hope that you would understand I do not feel it is right for two such people to...to share such emotions." He did not look up, and his body seemed to tremble slightly. "My lord, please, I wish to see your face."

"I do not wish for you to see it, my lady." He finally answered, voice low and husky. He turned away from her and approached the low Elven bed, sitting on it and resting his head in his hands. Alandria followed him, no longer curious of his words and actions but frightened, worried of what she had done.

"Please, my lord." She murmured, kneeling before him. She tenderly pulled his rough hands from his face and gently lifted his chin so he would meet her gaze. The grey eyes of the Gondorian were not as she would have expected to see - a storm of wind and snow and rain, the rain giving a glisten to his stare. Such as she had not been prepared to see, the anguish in his features. No longer strong and powerful but tormented and weak. Alandria gazed back at him in awe, even more frightened. "My lord Boromir, what causes you such despair?"

He held her gaze, stormy eyes impossible to tear away from, and spoke softly, his voice thick. "I see no hope. Despite what the Lady may see, I see none. The dark skies of my dream are now all about Middle-earth, and with the loss of Gandalf, I cannot see victory. Ever since Her words in my head, all I think of is the fall of my city, the death of my family. I am afraid. Afraid, and I wished only for the gentle touch of another." His grey stare was deep and intense, his voice an ever lower whisper. "With only death in my sight, I longed for the feel of beauty once more. I am sorry, for I acted out of line and ashamedly. It was wrong of me. Foolish. Please, forgive me."

"Boromir." She murmured softly, holding his face still in her hands, and brushing her fingers lightly through his long hair. She sighed, watching him closely, studying the water in his pained eyes. His breathing was heavy and uneven, his brow tense and worried, and he was no more the soldier she thought she knew. "I know not what to say, my lord." She whispered and he dropped her gaze, her green eyes finally free from his cloudy hold. "And so," She continued, lifting his chin slightly so he would look at her again. "I shall say nothing."

Slowly, gently, Alandria touched her mouth to his once more. His reaction was slow and unsure, but soon the comfort of her touch persuaded him. His strong hands held her waist as he pulled her gently closer, his mouth now taking hers in slow kisses. Her hands left his face to curve around his neck and keep him close, relaxing in his taste and warmth and strength. Their lips slowly moved together, fitting with ease. He pulled her yet closer to his warm, broad chest as he sighed, daring to deepen their kiss. His tounge touched her lower lip, and then ran across it, as she shivered slightly, his rough hands weaving tenderly into her long dark hair. She daintily adventured with her tounge as well, not long waiting to meet him and enjoy the taste of the Lord of Gondor. Rich, he tasted on her tounge; sweet, she was on his. He released her slowly, taking a breath of air and leaning his forehead to hers. His warm breath gusted comfortingly across her face and she watched him intently, watched the grey clouds of his eyes remain on the ground beneath their feet and watched a drop of water fall from his grey sky. He took another shuddering breath, and then quickly tilted his head back up so that his warm lips touched the corner of her mouth, sweetly kissing her once more.

"Boromir?" A voice called from somewhere outside the tent, a fair distance away.

The soldier paused, before hesitatingly letting her go and leaning back, clearing his throat. Alandria took it as a sign to move away from him and stood, giving the broad man room to stand. He rose to his feet and cleared his throat again in unease, running a hand through his red-brown hair and appearing to be trying to regain his bearings. "I believe that was Aragorn. I should go." He finally said, voice thick and husky. She nodded and stepped aside to let him pass, slightly dazed from what all had just occured. Boromir stepped through the tent flap and then paused, glancing quickly back at her and then away, pale eyes churning with thought. "I think you give me hope, my lady." He murmured, and without a word more, disappeared to his call.


	9. Burden To Carry

**Thank you, everyone, for all the reviews last chapter. I'm thrilled you were all so pleased with it, as I had said, I was nervous about it. So thank you a ton! :) And I hope you enjoy this chapter, although it's mostly a filler, just to keep things moving...**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Once Boromir had been gone for several long moments, Alandria sat back down upon the soft Elven bed. She debated going and making conversation with the rest of company, but could not bring herself to do so. The Elves had granted her privacy and she would use it while she could. So she laid down, her limbs at once eased in the power of the soft, gentle bed, and let her mind wander slowly, until sleep overtook her. And with sleep came dreams. Dark dreams, and visions, and images she didn't understand: swords clashing, roaring waterfalls, black arrows whistling through the air, the bay of a loud, clear horn. Alandria woke with a gasp, sitting upright and blinking until the last echoes of the horn disappeared from her mind. Slowly, she turned and rested her feet on the ground, before carefully standing. Her breath was slightly uneven and her hands trembled - the dream was still fresh in her mind. Unsteadily she made use of the wash basin and poured some of the water from the pitcher into it, then cupped it in her hands and splashed it swiftly across her face. Again and again she ran the cold, soothing Elven water wash over her face and eventually her neck as well, hoping it woud clean away the slight sweat from her skin and dark images from her mind. Her skin it cleaned, but her mind was only barely put to rest.

With a sigh, she dried her face with a nearby towel, relishing the perfect softness of it before glancing around the empty room in faint dismay. Still, she missed her country and people. In an attempt to ignore the homesickness she was weak with, she pushed aside the tent door, hoping to read the sun for the time. Yet she forgot she would not be able to see the sun. The dense trees of Lòrien obscured all above and around, shielding it's dwellers from sun and open spaces and spying eyes. But the sun and open land was what Alandria longed for, and the darkly beautiful trees felt suffocating. Quickly she fled the tent, for it was no longer a refuge but a trap, and soon after she began to run, she came upon the clearing where the rest of the Fellowship dwelt. They were all stirring, packing things, checking bags, or speaking with one another. Merry was closest to her, and she approached him quickly.

"Merry, what's happening?"

He glanced up at her in surprise, then his dark gaze flicked around the rest of the company. "We're getting ready to leave."

"Leave? Already?"

"Aye, we can't stay long they say. We're going down the river." He shifted, uneasy, and surprisingly solemn for such a normally perky man.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Well milday, I don't right know about sleep, but you've been in your tent long enough for us hobbits to all get some good shut-eye, and a meal on top of it. If that means a thing t'you, lady."

Alandria nodded, glancing around at the rest of the group. "Indeed it does. Thank you, Merry." She patted his shoulder and he nodded, before turning away to whisper something to Pippin. She strode towards Aragorn, meeting him just as he turned from speaking with some of the Lòrien elves.

"Lady Alandria." He acknowledged her with a nod.

"My lord, why are we departing so soon?"

"Time is of the essence, I fear. Since the loss of Gandalf time seems to press, and I do not feel safe dwelling in one place for too long."

"But we've hardly arrived!"

"Yes but we must now leave nonetheless. Please my lady, if you would oblige, gather your things and be ready." He nodded once more and left her to stand in confusion.

With a faint sigh and quiet grumble, she strode back to her tent and quickly retreived the few things she had. She strapped her sword back on, slid her knife into the small sheath on her hip, and pulled on the thick leather shirt she wore atop her lighter garments, before swiftly tying on her light, strong vanbraces. She needed and had nothing else, and quickly met back with the Fellowship in the clearing. Boromir caught her attention and she quickly made her way to his side.

"We are leaving so soon." She commented and he nodded.

"Indeed we are. Aragorn feels the need for haste. I do not blame him."

"I should have liked to linger but a little longer, however. Rest in a bed and fresh food was such a luxury." Alandria sighed softly, and the man beside her smiled.

"They certainly were, but these are not times of luxury, my lady."

"True words. I can't say I should miss Lòrien all that much, either. I will be a welcomed relief to see open land, and the sun!"

The Gondorian's deep chuckle made her smile faintly, and he nodded in agreement. "Aye, a tad too many trees here eh?"

"Far too many." She agreed, then noticed the others were moving. "Come, something's happening."

They followed the rest of the company and soon found themselves in yet another part of the forest, and somehow unconsciously formed into a line. Alandria stood between Boromir and Gimli, and shifted uneasily, not knowing what was happening. But when the fair lady of the Golden Wood stepped forward, a soft reassurance settled over her body. The golden-haired Elf seemed to float towards the straight line of travelers, and she was flanked by Lord Celeborn and seven other Elves. Each of them stepped forward, Galadriel to Frodo, Celeborn to Aragorn, the lesser Elves to the rest of the company, and they each held forward a grey-green cloak. As the travelers took their own cloaks and draped them around their shoulders, the Elves stepped forward to fasten the clothing around the nine with green and silver leaf-brooches. As they did so, the Lord Celeborn spoke, his voice deep and firm.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people. May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes." He bowed his head, and disappeared into the grey air with the other Elves. All save the Lady Galadriel, whom remained behind and watching them all with a knowing smile.

Once they were alone, just the Fellowship and her, she opened her mouth to speak in her deep, wise voice. "Such tasks you each have embarked upon, such perils you all have faced. Yet there are far more to come before the end. To further help your quest, and honor you with the grace of the Lothlòrien Elves, I give you each a gift. A gift, perhaps, that shall come in use, before the end." She smiled slowly again, her soft words kind and reassuring, but with a hidden warning beneath. First, she stepped towards Legolas, and he bowed his head respectfully. Her quiet words were meant for his ears only, and went unheard amongst those even closest to him. But alas, he was presented with a richly carved, strong bow, and a radiant quiver of arrows. Next came Merry and Pippin, and they unsheathed the daggers they were given with awe, admiring the bright edges. Then came Samwise, and he was given the gift of Elven rope, a pleasure, for Alandria had heard him grumbling about having forgotten his own at home. Gimli, son of Glòin, seemed to have trouble with his gift, for he was given the chance to chose what was to his liking. Alandria could hear his words clearly, and turned away to smile faintly, only to have her dark eyes meet with the pale blue-grey of the Steward's son. His soft gaze held hers, warm and clear, filled with partially-concealed images of fear, struggle, and - faintly - desire. The knowledge of his desire was not hidden to her and her face reddened, her eyes nervously dropped, landing on the ivory horn at his waist, and the echoes of her nightmare returned with a chill. Swiftly, she turned away again, and was surprised to see the Lady before her already.

"And to you, Lady-Rider of the Rohirrim, I give you light, sturdy, boots and gloves of the Elvish making. May these boots give you swifter, more agile feet, and be less a weight when the days grow long. The gloves will protect against any harm; from briar to knife, and shall never let you fall cold even in the snows of the bitterest North."

"Thank you, my Lady." Alandria bowed low, tenderly taking the valuable gifts from the beautiful creature. "They will be of incredible use."

"I have no doubt." Galadriel agreed, smiling again with the light of the sun. Then the smile faded, to a look of delicate wonderment, and the faintest form of concern. "I have one more gift for you, my dear. Dark thoughts are such a burden to carry; I shall ease your worry." Her dark, ocean-blue eyes closed for a moment and she raised a delicate hand to the side of Alandria's face. Alandria's own eyes closed as if independent from her will, and a pleasurable rush of warm wind, filled with the smell of grass and horses, spread through her mind and body. In an instant the smells and wind disappeared, and Alandria let out a soft gasp as Galadriel removed her hand, smiling once more. "Stay strong, Lady of Rohan. Strength will be needed."

Alandria nodded, bowed slightly, and then watched the Elven Lady in unease as she presented the proud Gondorian with a fine belt of gold leaves. She could not recall what thoughts had been tormenting her so few moments ago, what premonitions had irritated her mind. She knew there had been a darkness to her thoughts after she woke from her sleep, but now it was gone, just a figment of her imagination. It must have been a nonsense dream, with no point in remembering. For what burden the Lady had claimed to be removed, she could not recall of.

Galadriel stepped back from the line of travlers, watching them all carefully. She appeared almost proud. "May these gifts ease the difficult tasks that await you all, and keep you strong with memory of the Wood of Lothlòrien. Now," Her dark eyes passed to the dark-haired Ranger. "I wish you all to ready yourselves in the boats we have prepared for you, waiting at the river. I will see you leave, but first must have counsel with your Lord Aragorn." She nodded at them all with one of her radiant smiles, and turned to glide silently into the trees.

Aragorn stepped before them all, looking faintly uneasy and nervous before them. "Listen to the Lady of Lòrien. I shall join you for our journey as soon as she permits." He nodded as well, then turned and strode in the direction the Lady had just disappeared.

The eight other companions made their way easily through the silvery woods and soon came upon the flowing rivers of Anduin. Several Elves of Lòrien stood nearby, waiting for the company to make their way into the elegantly carved boats docked between a large tree's roots. Legolas strode before them and spoke quickly in the Elvish tounge, conversing swiftly and gesturing to the hobbits and the belongings they all carried with them. The Elves he spoke to answered him just as quickly, and they then gently took the packs from the little hobbits, and divided them equally among the boats. Legolas spoke quietly again, then nodded and faced his companions once more.

"These boats are of Lòrien skill, and shall not turn nor spill you into the water. Not easily, either, will they fall themselves below the tide." He padded silently closer to the Fellowship. "Come, Gimli, you shall be in the boat with me, to the far left. Merry, Pippin, Boromir and Alandria, you shall be together to the boat beside us. Sam and Frodo, you will ride with Aragorn when he returns, in the final boat." They all nodded at their assigned positions, and stepped forward to settle themselves into the boats, when Aragorn and the Lady Galadriel appeared from the trees.

"I wish to speak with Frodo." The Lady spoke softly, watching the Ring Bearer intently. The young hobbit's wide blue eyes glanced around at his kind uneasily, then met the steady gaze of the Ranger. Aragorn nodded, and Frodo disappeared with the Lady of the Wood.

Aragorn then spoke himself with the Elves, presumably asking about their arrangement and travel. Satisfied after a moment, he nodded and turned to his company. "Come, into the boats. We must leave when the Ring Bearer returns; there is no time to waste." Merry and Pippin eagerly clambered into their boat, which the Elves thankfully held steady, and waited for the others to follow by rummaging through the new bags the Elves had placed with them.

"Lord Aragorn," Alandria spoke out, surprised by her boldness. But he turned to her with no other expression than gentleness and ease, awaiting her words. "I must ask - why is such sudden haste necessary?"

"This haste is not sudden, my lady, for it has been with us since Rivendell. Only now must we truly feel it. The Elves warn of dark creatures approaching, and we have no need to linger. I am sorry if this causes inconvenience to you, Lady Alandria." His soft, blue-green eyes flicked to the Gondorian at her side but for a moment, before meeting her green gaze once more.

"None, my lord. I had only a curiosity to be solved." She smiled faintly and he reflected it, bowing his head, then looking up at to the woods.

Frodo and Galadriel returned, Galadriel's features unchanged as always, and Frodo seeming even more uneasy. He stepped towards the boat immediately, and was helped in by two Elves. Sam was next, settling into the slightly rocking boat uncomfortably, hazel eyes wide and wary. Upon the two hobbits' movements, the others followed suit. Gimli clambered ungracefully into the sturdy boat, and was steadied by several delicate Elven hands. Legolas jumped in behind him, hardly causing a tilt in the wooden raft. Boromir gestured for Alandria to follow behind Merry and Pippin and she did so warily, not accostomed to travel on water. She sat uncomfortably, jumping slightly when the weight of the Gondorian rocked the boat gently, and then comforted with his presence behind her.

Aragorn spoke softly again with his Elven friends, embracing them swiftly before nodding, and carefully easing himself behind the two hobbits in his care. His face was troubled for but a moment, before quickly becoming strong and steady. "Come, Fellowship, the journey is not yet over." He did the honor of first dipping his silvery, elegantly carved oar into the blue-grey waters of Anduin and began to lead the others down the river. Galadriel stood on a bank some paces away, cloaked in a cloth that was white as the clouds, fitting about her beauty with ease. She raised a delicate hand in farewell, and faintly, as they were swept down the stream, the soft words of her Elvish song followed them.


	10. Difference In the Fellowship

**As I'm sure you are all aware, this story is drawing to a close very soon. There'll be I think another two or so chapters after this, and then it's done...and yes, I have finally decided on my ending. I hope it does not disappoint :) Please, as always, read, review, and come back for more!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

The river of Anduin was swift and strong, carrying them with ease down it's great length. Little need did they have for the oars with their boats but still they did use them, for a comfort they seemed. Alandria grew more at ease in the small boat, content listening to the hobbit's cheerful talk, until it died away. The beauty of the lands they passed ceased even the most talkative of peoples, it seemed, and left them all watching in awe as their boats passed. On and on they were carried, and when darkness fell they ceased for but a short while on the shores. The darkness fell quickly, and Aragorn allowed the hobbits to light a low fire. They ate, and laid down to rest until their watch came. Alandria found the dark shore an uneasy place for rest, but after a long while, drifted to a restless sleep.

Not long after, however, she was woken with a murmur of voices. Quietly, she raised herself to her elbows, listening intently and peering through the faint moonlight. She made out the silhouttes of the two men, standing beside each other and facing the large lake. Their words were too soft to understand, but she turned her eyes to the point in the lake they stared at so intently. Her brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes narrowing in hope to see better. A dark shape floated on the lake, seeming to be part of a log except that it moved from time to time. Whatever it was, surely it could not be good? Perhaps it was working for Saruman, or worse? And how long had it been watching them, following them? The Ring Bearer and Samwise were speaking quietly nearby but she paid them no heed, interested only in the strange thing watching their company. She moved to get up, to go over and ask the conversing men if they knew what the creature was, but the increased volume in their soft murmur stalled her. Further causing her to hesitate was when the Ranger turned to step away, only to have the Gondorian grasp his shirt and pull him back to face him.

"You are afraid!" She heard the deep voice of Boromir accuse the dark-haired man. "...hidden in the shadows...of who you are.." His words were still too quiet, and as Aragorn leaned closer to his challenger to reply, she forced herself to her feet.

She approached loudly, hoping to silence them and forewarn of her coming. Aragorn looked over his shoulder at her, then glanced back at Boromir before striding away without a word. She watched him leave, then turned her attention to the weary man before her. He met her gaze for but a moment before pulling away and turning back to the lake. "What is that?" She asked softly, gesturing to the thing on the water.

"Gollum. Aragorn says it has been following us since Moria."

"Creature of Saruman?"

"Of Mordor." He replied, turning with a heavy sigh and settling onto a low rock.

"Are you alright, my lord?"

He ran a hand over his face, his features drawn and tired, pale eyes refusing to meet her gaze and filled with something she did not understand. "I am weary of this journey. Already it seems too far we have walked."

"We have further yet to travel, my lord."

"Indeed we do." He sighed, before glancing up at her for a short moment, features still restless. "I am sorry if we woke you. We were just..negotiating the path of our journey."

"Negotiating?" She smiled faintly but he did not return it, did not even look at her.

"The Ranger will not go to Minas Tirith." He dropped his head, gazing down at the gloved hands in his lap. "He does not trust his own kind."

Unchecked sympathy flooded her system, and she settled beside him. "Lord Aragorn is just wary, as we all should be. No matter the path, the Ring needs only to get to Mordor. That is our destination."

"I know that, my lady." He sighed heavily, eyes still on his lap. "It is just difficult. How am I supposed to hold onto hope, if our very own leader of the Fellowship does not have it?"

"Aragorn has hope, my lord."

"But he does not have faith, or trust, in the world of Men. Does he not see that our kind is what is set to be destroyed? Yet he will not have faith in his own people! Our own people."

Alandria had lowered her green eyes as well, studying the dark terrain as the soldier spoke, before gently - carefully - taking one of the gloved hands cradled in his lap in her own warm grasp. He raised his head to look at her in question, but she did not meet his gaze, only held his hand with both of hers. "I have faith, my lord, in you and Lord Aragorn and the world of Men....Does that comfort you?"

He did not answer for a moment and she grew uncomfortable in the silence, fearing her actions and words were too much. Her grass-green eyes met up with his blue-grey gaze, and the faintest of smiles touched his features, the only sign she had yet seen of the true Boromir, but at the same time it seemed forced, almost like a mask. "Aye," He murmured richly, eyes never leaving her face. "It does." Her eyes fluttered shut when his warm mouth pressed gently against hers, and her tense muscles softened against him. Her hands still held his one, and his free hand raised to cradle the side of her face tenderly, fingertips pressing into her hair, before their lips broke apart. Still, his face was close to hers and his faint smile returned as he gazed at her, less mask-like this time but still not perfect. He closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips to her forehead and then her lips, her cheek, her neck, before he paused, just breathing against her skin.

Alandria felt small shivers convulse across her skin in time with his hot breath, and her body felt irrationally as if it were ablaze, her limbs weak. She didn't understand the sensations and only trembled again when the Gondorian's lips pressed once more to her neck. "It does indeed comfort me to hear you have faith, my lady Alandria." Her breathing hitched uncomfortably when he spoke, gusts of breath sweeping over her flushed skin. "I feel so alone these past days. I feel as if there is a madness inside I cannot control or be rid of. Always it is there...does that make sense, my lady?" He raised his face back to level with hers, mildly stormy eyes watching intently.

"Aye, my lord." She nodded slightly, small tremors still sturring her skin. "Are you sure you are alright though? Since Moria you seem different, if you don't mind my saying so, and more so since the Lady Galadriel spoke to us..in..." Her words trailed off as a hardness came to the soldier's features and, briefly, his eyes glinted darkly at the mention of the Lady of the Golden Wood. "I am sorry, it's only that-"

"No, no, I understand my lady." He abruptly removed his hand that was still in her hold, and put distance between them again. "It is just as I have said, I am weary. Please, go back to sleep. One of us at least must rest." His grey-blue eyes met hers for a moment, tired and soft once more, before changing and looking away.

She bit her lip, not understanding and fighting not to question him, then slowly rose and stepped away. "Good night, my lord."

* * *

When the light came, they were off again, and Alandria longed for the deep, soft speech of the Gondorian to fill her ears. He had grown quieter in the passing hours they traveled the river, and she had heard no word from him yet that day. Uneasy in the now harsh silence, she gently pleaded and persuaded the soldier to talk, to speak of his country, and once again he fascinated her with his mysterious land she longed to know. True, Rohan had long been allied with Gondor, but the need for allies had not been had in many years. Until recently, and yet the King Thèoden had not been well enough to respond to any cry for help that might have come. Never had Alandria seen the White City, and she marveled at the autumn-haired man's description of it.

"My lady, look!" He whispered, and she glanced back at him in alarm as his words broke her thoughts, and saw him staring towards the sky in awe. She turned back, and felt her breath catch. Before them were perched two grand stone statues, one on each side of the river. They were both equally tall - hundreds of feet high - and equally beautiful, in the way only ancient things can be. One stood with his hand resting on the cliffs beside him, the other grasping his sword. Both had their other hand outstretched, protecting the Fellowship's path past them. They stood tall and proud, seemingly untouched by the thousands of years they must have been standing, each wearing a crown of stone atop his head.

"The Kings of Cair Gornath, ancient men of old. Long have they stood to protect the river. Longer still shall they stand." Boromir's voice was but a warm murmur to the backdrop of fascination Alandria felt, the magnificence of the grand, ancient statues nearly overbearing.

"They're beautiful." She breathed and she heard a soft sigh behind her.

"Aye, beautiful indeed." A strong hand touched her shoulder and squeezed gently, before quickly releasing as he continued to paddle onward. She glanced down from the tall stone figures and felt a heat across her cheeks, but soon forgot it and had her gaze drawn back to the Kings. Silence fell over the company from then on, yet soon they found themselves amidst an immense lake, and Alandria could see the mist of the Falls of Rauros in the distance, confirmed when their faint rumble met her ears. Aragorn signaled to the two boats behind him that they were to turn towards the shore, and soon they came upon the rocky bank of Amon Hen. Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas each jumped out of their boats, wading in the shallow shore's water and pulling the wooden rafts further onto the shore, until stabled. The rest of the company leapt out and the boats were drug even further up the bank, until they were completely out of the water.

"Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen - and lady." Aragorn announced. "We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats, and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the North." Alandria turned away as the Dwarf began to challenge the Ranger, listing the difficult terrain they would come upon, and obviously worrying the hobbits. Aragorn replied simply, then stepped away to let them unpack themselves, but Alandria did not miss the quiet words Legolas whispered to the Ranger. Aragorn gave a reply, and it did not seem to be the one the Elf wanted. He gazed into the dark forest, fair features hard and attentive.

"Lady Alandria." She was shaken back to attention by the deep voice of the Steward's son, and turned to his handsome face. "The hobbits are setting to make dinner. Please, drop your things and join me in company by their fire?"

She smiled gently, distracted, and nodded before following him to a large tree and setting down her sword beside his shield. He dropped to the ground heavily, sighing, and she settled beside him more gently. His smile was broad, charming, and it eased the unknowing worry she felt. Her eyes traced over each line and curve of his face as if by their own accord, taking in yet again the square of his jaw, line of his nose, broad forehead, curve of his brows, the pale sky-grey of his eyes, the autumn-red of his long hair and short beard. He stared back at her with ease, until she became uncomfortable, and looked away. His presence was pressing, warm and protective, but he sat beside her silently, watching the hobbits intently.

Sam had set about immediately making a fire, with the eager help of Merry and Pippin. They'd all relieved themselves of the weapons and heavy packs, digging out food and meal dishes quickly. Sam was quiet, speaking only soft orders to the other two about how to watch what they were doing, yet they hardly seemed to pay attention. Nothing could subdue Merry and Pippin's spirits it seemed, for they were still joking and laughing even as the rest of the camp remained silent. Only then did Alandria notice the Ring Bearer was not among them. She glanced around, thinking to see him standing somewhere nearby. But no, she did not see him. She did not panic, did not voice her worries aloud. Why, she did not know, for it would have been thought wise to alert the camp of Frodo's disappearance, wouldn't it? But something stopped her, kept her words inside her head. She glanced at the powerful man beside her, silent and stoic. _The one you believe to be strong is weakening._ She turned away and carefully rose to her feet.

"My lady?" The Gondorian's voice was soft, deep and rich, stalling her with his question.

"I'm only going for a walk, my lord."

"May I join?" He began to rise.

"No!" She whirled to cease his movements, then stopped herself, seeing his surprised expression. "No, thank you, lord. I wish to think alone, please."

He nodded slowly, pale eyes observing her with confusion. "Aye, as you wish." She bowed her head, then turned away once more with a shaky breath. Her sudden wariness of the soldier confused her, the sudden attentiveness to the Lady Galadriel's words only now stalling her actions for a reason she did not understand. Perhaps there was one who would. She strode quietly into the trees, keeping her ears and eyes sharp until she came to her destination.

"My lord?" She introduced herself politely, and bowed slightly when the dark-haired man faced her. He returned her bow, light eyes tired.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I..I wish to speak with you, if you do not mind my company."

"No, lady, not at all."

"Thank you, my lord. Lord Aragorn, may I ask, do you feel a...difference, in the Fellowship?"

His light eyes glanced at her in faint confusion. "Do you?"

"I do not know. The company seems more...tense, I think. The air is tight."

He nodded, watching the woods around them. "Things are changing, yes, I feel it too. But I do not understand it." She nodded slowly in reply, taking his answer with unease and watching the land around them uncomfortably. "What is it that troubles you?" He turned his attention to her, watching and listening intently, all the while still another part of him watched the forest.

"I do not rightly know, sir, only that there is a feeling of unease I cannot shake. I do not like these woods."

"Neither does Legolas." He replied, sighing softly. "I would not stay with such premonitions from you of the company, but orcs patrol the eastern shore, and the hobbits are tired. Especially Frodo. He has not fully recovered from the loss of Gandalf." His words softened, his blue-green eyes tinted with pain.

"My lord Aragorn, that is another trouble I have to voice - the Ring Bearer. Do you know where he is?"

The man tilted his head slightly in confusion, brows pulling together. "But he is with you and the hobbits."

A shiver of worry ran through her being. "No lord, he is not."

The Ranger did not answer but to stare at her in fright for a moment, before brushing past her and crashing towards the camp. She followed quickly, nearly running into him as he stopped suddenly, staring at something. She followed his gaze, confused, until her eyes fell upon the red and silver shield of Gondor, leaning lone against a tree. Boromir was not to be seen.

"Stay here." Aragorn ordered, backing into the trees already. "I will find Frodo."

"Do not harm him!" She cried, trying to follow, but was stopped by Legolas. "He has done nothing. You do not know that he will do anything!"

The dark man of the North met her gaze for a moment, telling her just what he knew the Gondorian might do, and continued towards the woods. "Watch the camp, stay quiet." And he turned, disappearing.


	11. Darkness Is Approaching

**I know, this is painfully short, but I am nearly done with the next chapter and can tell it's going to be pretty long. So this one was cut off a bit, but hopefully you all enjoy it nonetheless! I want to thank you all for your reviews, support, and advice. You've all been a great help and I hope haven't been disappointed! As I said, the next chapter should be up soon, and with it, the decided fate of our proud Gondorian Captain...**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Legolas released her then, and she glared at him, muttering her protests quietly, before striding over to where the remaining hobbits camped. She fell to the ground with a heavy sigh, and looked up when she felt curious gazes on her. "What?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at Merry, Pippin, and even Sam's nervous glances.

"Where'd Strider run off to?" Merry asked.

"He's..finding Boromir and Frodo."

"You mean they've run off?" The hobbit asked in bewilderment, but Alandria shook her head.

"No! They each went off for a walk, but..but..Aragorn wants them back at camp." The lie was quick, and loose, but satisfied her curious companions. Or nearly.

"That Boromir's gone too, you say?" Asked Sam, and she nodded. "Well Mr. Frodo had better be careful. I don't right trust him."

"Don't trust him?!" She snapped in reply, frustrated and frightened by the large lack of faith the Fellowship seemed to have in her soldier. "Boromir has done nothing to lack your trust!"

"Easy, easy, milday! I didn't mean nothin' by it, really. Just seen him givin' Mr. Frodo some odd looks is all..." Alandria made a rude sound and got to her feet again, leaving the hobbits to their mutterings.

She strode a few nervous yards away, before picking her sword up and fastening it back to her belt. The Elf watched her carefully, before lifting his head up quickly, keen eyes watching the woods. "You expect a battle, Lady of Rohan?" His musical voice asked softly, eyes continually searching.

"I fear one, yes. Something is not right about the sudden quiet, something not right about these shores...I am prepared."

"Yes, I feel it too. Darkness is approaching. Something is-" His words ceased, and he turned his head, sharp ears listening to things the rest of the company would not hear for many more moments. "Footsteps." He whispered, voice low as he focused. "Heavy ones, many of them. Metal with them." He backed up quickly towards the hobbits, blue eyes wide and words urgent. "Voices like orcs! Large orcs! I hear them; they are coming!"

Alandria's blood chilled at his words, for an attack of orcs she had certainly not anticipated. How could such creatures find them out here, and in the daylight? "Merry, Pippin, Sam! Get your weapons and hide!" She cried, rushing towards the little men. "Quickly! Quickly! Into the forest, hide!" They jumped to attention, eyes wide and faces pale, but obeying the orders barked at them. All three fled into the forest, ducking behind boulders and rotting trees, quickly lost in the dense wood. She turned away from them, praying for their safety, and unsheathed her sword as Legolas strung his bow.

"We must find Aragorn." He said, as Gimli stepped to his side. Alandria nodded, thinking solely of finding Boromir. Without a word more, the trio dashed into the trees, swiftly pushing their way through the forest and towards the sounds of battle even Gimli could now hear. Metal clashed on metal, and loud roar-like cries carried to them from afar. Legolas had told truly - these were not normal orcs. The boots of Lòrien gave Alandria speed and agility she had not expected, easily being carried over the twisted terrain, until they came upon a large clearing by a falling stone building.

The clearing was swarming with men-like creatures, tall, broad, muscled and black like orcs. Their metal was black as well, with the paint of white hands on their faces and helms, their blades crude and oddly shaped, and they fought with growls and roars. Amidst their great number was Aragorn, twisting, turning, slicing smoothly with his blade in the way only a Ranger could do, and a very skilled Ranger at that. Without a moment's hesitation, Legolas, Gimli and Alandria thrust themselves into the battle.

She was swept into the chaos with a yell, and quickly plunged her sword into the side of a large orc, then turned, pulled the blade out, and cut down another from neck to waist. One rushed her from the other side and she ducked it's wild swing, thrusting forward through it's crude armor and running it through with ease. She stood straight again, only to have to bring up her blade quickly to block the blow of another attacker. She swung and sliced with more urgency and speed than she had ever felt before, cutting down adversary after adversary hastily. Throats slashed open, limbs fell away, and bodies dropped with snarls and growls. Then she came to a struggling point, her sword clashing against a large orcs weapon, but halting there. The creature was strong and their blades locked, her muscles groaning as the monster snarled at her with pointed, discolored teeth. Alandria clenched her jaw, struggling to overcome the creature, and then broke away as it's armored fist connected with her skull. The blow was powerful and she stumbled back for a moment as her sight lurched, but with a shake of her head, she managed to reclaim her posture. Just in time, for the creature was already continuing the attack. She blocked another blow, spun to avoid a lash with a knife, and thrust forward, into the creature's gut, then wrenching her sword up, further gouging into the monster. Once the large man-orc fell off her blade, she took the moment to pull out her long knife from the sheath on her other hip, knowing she would need it.

But as Alandria prepared herself for the next attack, she saw there was only a scarce number of the creatures still around her and the other three fighters. Many were running through the forest, but they passed by quickly and paid the travelers no heed. Alandria turned to ask Aragorn if he knew how many there were, and came face to face with the black, mutated features of one of the large orcs. She gasped and raised her knife, but the creature was no longer moving. It stopped but a few inches from her and then dropped, too long arrows protruding from the back of it's neck. She stared down at the creature for a moment, before looking up and seeing the blonde elf lower his bow. She nodded a thanks, breathing heavily, and he returned it. Again, she turned to look for Aragorn, but was stopped at the oddly familiar sound that hit her ears. Several deep, clear blasts of a horn echoed through the trees, alerting all. The horn's call was familiar, but she knew she had never heard it before, because she knew whom it belonged too, and was running before Aragorn even spoke his name. Boromir.

The loud bellows sounded again, striking fear and alarm straight through her as she ran. The boots of Lòrien proved to be more useful than she could have expected, for they carried her swiftly and safely over the knotted terrain, swifter than even the Ranger. The lush woods blurred into one solid backdrop as she ran, leaping agilely over fallen trees and bodies, following the sound of battle from ahead. Onward she rushed, hardly daring to stop and fight save for when one challenged her. Even then, in her hurry she would slice once, twice, wildly, and then continue her mad dash. The sounds were louder now, complete with the groans and yells of the man she seeked, and her light feet carried her quickly to the brow of the low hill that hid the battle.

She came over the hill, and her eyes landed immediately on a figure that stood but yards away. A huge man-like-orc, larger than any she had seen so far, without a helmet but wielding a large black bow, with a crude arrow already on the string. Her motions felt slowed, her eyes crawled along the path the large orc was aiming, until they fell on the aumtun-haired lord of Gondor - when at the same instant the black dart pierced his body, throwing him back with the force. When the arrow hit the soldier, she gasped and stumbled as if it had hit her too, losing her breath with him. She watched in horror as he staggered, face streaked with black blood and dark dirt, hair wet with sweat, and fell to his knees. He gasped for a moment, strong features surprised and pained, before standing upright once more with a yell, and cutting his way through still more of the large orcs.

Alandria caught movement from the corner of her eye, and turned to see the huge orc with the bow raise his weapon again, pointing still at the Steward's son. Strength rushed into her limbs and with a cry, she rushed towards the monster, blade high and ready. Soon she was upon him, but he was quick to release another arrow at her soldier, and she couldn't help but slow her steps to yet again watch the black dark sink into the Gondorian's side. He gasped again with the impact, stumbling and falling to his knees, nearly toppling over until he braced himself on his arm, and everything seemed stilled. With a deep breath, his jaw clenched and straightened back up, swinging his sword again at approaching adversaries.

Alandria felt energy in her limbs again and turned once more to the large orc that was trying to take away her soldier. He had another arrow on the string and now pointed at her as she approached, smoothly releasing the dart. But she was prepared, and dodged easily. Closer now, and she swung powerfully with her broad sword. The monster ducked her swing though and it went wild, pulling her body a step with it. He snarled and grabbed the back of her thick shirt, tearing her down to the ground with ease, giving himself time to draw his own crude blade. He brought it down upon her swiftly, but she blocked with her own sword and then rolled away before he could swing again. She jumped back to her feet, and barely dodged a powerful swing aimed at her head, slashing out with her knife quickly. It sliced across the monster's thigh, doing nothing but provoking a loud snarl. She blocked yet another blow, and another, then spun with both of her weapons outstretched - the knife knicking the creature's hand that held the sword, and her blade cutting into his side. The wounds hardly phased him though, and he fought crudely, throwing a metal-covered fist into her jaw. She stumbled, and felt the neck of her shirt grasped, before having her head forced into the rough bark of a nearby tree. Blood burst into her mouth and she stumbled to her knees as the orc-man let her go. He growled behind her, and she turned her body swiftly, wildly, slashing back with her sword until it connected with flesh. Another wild blow to the side of her head and she fell over, shoulders connecting with the dry leaves of the ground. She lay on her back and stared up, her eyes widening as the large orc brought his blade down upon her. Quickly, she scrambled for her own sword, grasping it and thrusting up into the creatures chest as it bent over her. The monster roared, and stepped back, allowing Alandria to stumble to her feet again. She wrenched her sword out of the orc's stomach, then thrust it back in with a grunt. Seeing her knife lying nearby she scrambled over to grab it, springing upright once again and throwing the smaller blade surely at the creature's throat. It lodged in, and she watched in shock as the huge monster reached up to pull out the knife, and then dropped it. She reached forward to grab her sword again, hoping to tear it from the monster's body and finish the battle with a decapitation, but found her movements unnecessary. The large man-orc stumbled forward a step, snarling and growling all the while, fixing her in it's squinted gaze, before falling to it's knees, and then toppling over completely.

She panted heavily, staring for a moment at the huge corpse, shaken by the fight it had put up. She barely had a chance to breathe though before another two orcs charged into her vision, and swords clashed once more. She was tired but still creatures came and still she swung, until metal-on-metal, savage snarls, slicing flesh, and her own cries were all that she heard. Blades skimmed her clothing and skin, and she bled unknowingly as more monsters fell beneath her sword. With a thrust of her weapon into one orc's throat, and then a grunt as she pulled it back out, blood spattered across her cheek. The creature fell, and no more came. Alandria paused, her breathing heavy and head light, and surveyed the slaughter around her. Then she remembered. Her heart raced with fear, and fresh, cold adrenaline hit her bloodstream. Quickly, she found new strength, and rushed back to the top of the low hill. Her eyes quickly scoured the area below her, taking in the emptiness of the scene. Dozens of black bodies lay around, leaving a foul stench in the air. But she only cared to see her soldier. He was standing again somehow, leaning heavily against a tree and his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Her feet carried her to him faster than she could have imagined, even as she stumbled over her own steps in haste.

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**NOTE: Please, if you've read this far, - review! You've no idea how helpful and encouraging they are, and especially now that the story's drawing to a close, I need your guys' feedback! I know there are many readers, just drop a few lines and I'll be mighty thankful!**

**Cheers!**


	12. End of Days

**Sorry the update took so long after such a short chapter. I was just nervous as hell(still am!) and kept checking it..anyway, *deep breath* here goes!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

The soldier's head lifted wearily as he heard her approach, and she saw the sheen of sweat across his pale, dirtied face. "Boromir!" She cried, stumbling to a stop before him. His body sagged more still when she reached him and she grasped his arms, straining to hold him up. "Boromir..sit, my lord, sit. Rest. The battle is over." His legs gladly gave out, and she carefully lowered him to the forest floor.

"I am..sorry. I tried." His low voice was thick, and he choked his words out painfully.

"Tried? Boromir you defeated far more than any would believe! And you are still trying, for these pathetic darts will not be the end!"

"They took the little ones." He gasped, ignoring her words and his gloved hand grasping her sleeve. "The Halflings are gone."

Alandria paled. "The hobbits? Frodo? And the Ring?"

"No." He shook his head, swallowing down pain. "My charges. Merry. Pippin. They took them. I tried to..to protect them, but could not. I am not strong enough."

"You are stronger than any expected, my lord. Do not think otherwise. You are strong." Her left hand cradled his neck, the other clasped in his fingers, slick with his blood. "The others will be here soon, and then we must-"

"I tried to take it." He interrupted, pulling her closer, pale eyes tormented and full of pain.

"Take what?" She asked, already fearing she knew the answer.

"The Ring." His voice was thicker still, breathing too heavy. "I tried to take it from Frodo. I am sorry. I have paid."

"No!" She cried, grasping his hand tighter, pulling it to her chest. "No you have not, because you need not. You did not take the Ring. You alone fought bravely to save the hobbits. You are strong, my lord of Gondor, and there is no regret you should hold. You will pay nothing. Come, stand, we will have Aragorn heal you, and then we will find the hobbits." She stood, and tried to help him up, but he pulled away from her with a grunt.

"I am too weak, and too..tired. I cannot walk like this. We...don't have the time for me to heal, the hobbits..are already far ahead of us. Find the others and..go."

"No my lord! I will not leave you. Just let us try to heal you, please." She reached for an arrow but her fingers barely touched it when his own large hands encompassed hers, pulling them away.

"No Alandria, don't. It is pointless."

"But they are just a couple of arrows! Weaker men have survived worse!" She argued desperately, not liking what she saw in the grey-blue eyes before her.

"I was forced to continue my fighting even with the arrows in me. They are...too deep. It does not matter anymore. I have..paid for my greed."

"You owe no one and nothing a debt! You did not take the Ring!"

His eyes met her gaze and locked, his jaw clenching before he spoke. "I would have killed Frodo, milday, had I caught him." He saw her eyes widen, and felt her grip on his hands loosen, her body lean slightly away, before she shook her head.

"No you wouldn't. You wouldn't."

"I wanted to. I could see it happen in my mind: I could..easily strangle him. Kill him. Take the Ring, and use it...use it.." He bit off his words and turned away, swallowing the bitter blood that was filling his mouth.

"No." She shook her head again, her eyes blurred with hot tears. "No you wouldn't have. I know it. I do." _He cannot be saved._

"This is only my payment for such desires...my lady. There is no stopping it, I know that. Just please, if...you see my brother, tell him I am..sorry. Tell him, I loved him.."

"Stop! Boromir, please, stop your talk of death and ends! I will not let you pass!" She cried out again, shaking the hands that held hers and pulling them both to her chest, kissing the bloodied fingertips. "You must stay!"

He shook his head slightly, pain in every nerve with every movement, holes being burned where the arrows lie in his chest. "I can't, my lady...too much pain.."

"You can! You are strong, my lord! Arrows will not be your end!" She insisted, but he merely turned his face away. "Please Boromir!" Her voice cracked from the surge of tears that had begun to seep from her, wetting their clasped hands. "Remember your brother, and your father! Remember your Gondor! Live for them, lord..please.." Her pleadings continued but he did not reply, his breaths slow and faint, pale droplets of rain falling from his stormy gaze. Alandria held tighter to his hands, before glancing at the quiet around them. "Aragorn!" She screamed, voice choked with her tears. "_Aragorn!_" She gasped back the water in her eyes, and stared down at the man below her, his features pale and drawn, sweaty and dirty. His eyes were weakening. "Hold on, Boromir. Just please hold on." She leaned forward and touched her lips to his but for a moment, before footsteps through the forest alerted her.

"Alandria?" The soft voice of the Ranger called, and his dark figure dashed into view, followed closely by Legolas and then Gimli. "Why have y- Boromir!" He hurried forward, dropping to his knees beside Alandria. "Boromir.." He breathed, his eyes falling upon the wounds that his comrade bore. Urgently, he grasped an arrow, only to be stopped the same as Alandria.

"Don't!" The Gondorian choked through the new wave of pain. "It is useless."

Before Aragorn could reply, Alandria cried desperately, "Help him Aragorn! He is hurt - you can heal him!"

"Boromir," The Ranger started, but the other man's deep words silenced him.

"The arrows are deep. The wounds..cannot be healed. Not even by you. Do not bother."

"You know not whether they can be healed. Let me try, Boromir. There is a chance."

"No!" The soldier snapped, as an arrow was reached for yet again. He panted heavily, painfully. "It is injuries deserved, Aragorn. The Ring, I...I tried to take it..from Frodo.."

"I know." The Ranger replied softly, to both Alandria and Boromir's numb surprise. "I found him. He is leaving to finish the journey alone."

Boromir nodded once in approval. "You are stronger than I, then."

"Nay." Aragorn shook his head, his own eyes glistening. "You are strong. You can heal and-"

"No, Aragorn." The Gondorian interrupted softly. "I cannot and you have not the time to try. I have..brought this upon myself. Such deeds and thoughts of mine can only be repaid...with life. You must carry on the journey." Aragorn continued to gaze down at his fallen friend, and Alandria noticed an unnerving look pass between them, before the dark-haired man slowly nodded. Boromir bowed his head slightly. "My king."

Alandria's eyes burned with wet fire and she shook her head in resistance. "No! No Boromir, no! Everyone can be forgiven! You must live!" Her voice was strained, breaking, and she fought for control that would not come.

"Please Aragorn, take her from my side. She has seen too much death already." His skin was paler yet, blood a vibrant line along his lips, continuing to pulse from the black arrows still wedged in his breast and ribs. Alandria began to argue again, but stopped as a surprisingly firm hand gripped her's. "I am not the journey, my lady. Remember Frodo and the Ring...Remember Middle-earth." He swallowed, fighting for a less painful breath of air. "Do not lose hope." He fell silent, rich voice saying no more, but the raining, storm-blue eyes spoke words he never would. At Boromir's nod, Aragorn pulled her to her feet. She was numb, until he led her a step away from the shallow-breathing Gondorian. And then every muscle in her body raged against the Ranger, and she screamed to be let go, the dam behind her green gaze finally breaking. Her struggles were powerful with the pain of losing and loss, but Legolas stepped forward to help restrain her and she got nowhere. The man and elf blocked her view of her soldier, and her cries grew more frantic, with no words of comfort to cease them.

"Save him Aragorn!" She cried. "They are but arrows! He does not have to die!"

"We can do nothing, my lady. He wishes not to be saved; I will obey his last prayer." The rugged man replied evenly, struggling to hold her back.

Whispered words drifted through her mind again, words that she had never wanted to hear: _He cannot be saved._ Her voice rose, screaming with agony and endless sorrow, such as she had never felt before."No! No he cannot die! Let me go - he cannot leave me alone on this journey! He must live! He must!"

"No, my lady! There must be sacrifices. He has made his choice!"

"Have you no repulsion at it? He is not condemned! Please!" She begged, but the Ranger did not answer. He merely held her tighter, so she grew even more desperate. "Your lady at Rivendell - you would do the same to her?" Her words were harsh and unfair, she knew, but did not care.

Aragorn's blue-green eyes hardened for but an instant, and his jaw clenched. "You know not what you speak of." He replied, voice as smooth as always.

"And you know not what I feel! If your lady asked to be let die, you would grant her wish? You would let her perish, knowing you could have stopped-"

"No more! Do not speak of things you do not understand, lady." The Northener's eyes were like stones now, features shadowed. "Boromir will be a loss. But losses will be suffered."

"But I cannot let him go like this!" She pleaded again, struggling uselessly once more, eyes still pouring her pain. "Not when my heart has decided to love-"

"Aragorn." Legolas spoke for the first time, and his soft words gently commanded both their attention. "Let her go." He murmured, releasing his hold. Aragorn did the same without question, and immediately Alandria rushed to her Gondorian's side.

As she came upon his still form, she knew the elf had only let her go because he had known what she now saw - it was too late. All the curses and prayers and pleadings that welled up inside of her struggled to be let out at once, jumbling into senseless cries, hoarse screams. She could only fall to her knees beside his motionless body and let the anguish take her, and wish for anything but this. Her own death, rather than this. Unconsciously, her hands framed his beautiful face and she pulled him to her chest, holding tight to the body of the Steward's son and only screaming louder as the arrows' shafts pressed against her. His once warm skin was cold, and ashen. His beautiful blue-grey eyes were dulled and empty, never again soft or smiling or troubled, only staring unseeingly. She passed a hand over them, closing his gaze to the harsh world. He appeared colorless and faded, save for the red blood that had spilled from his passing. He was gone. She did not hear the screams and cries that shook her body - she did not know that two hobbits on the river heard her pain, and it chilled them through their bones. She did not feel the hot water of agony that poured unceasingly from her eyes, nor the blood that still dripped from her earlier fighting. She felt only a hole forming in her chest; she felt the skin slice open, her ribs crack and split apart, her insides stabbed again and again with a shapeless weapon. She felt the wound that would never heal, just as the memories would never fade away.

How long she sat there, holding the empty body, she did not know. But every second of it was spent praying he would take another breath, and open his eyes. It did not happen. Her voice was hoarse and dry, and her eyes were nearly drained. Time passed by and darkness started to fall, still she did not loosen her hold, continually crying her soldier's name and begging for him to come back. Seeing how she stayed rooted to the spot, Aragorn exchanged a nod with Legolas, and stepped forward to pull the mourning woman to her feet. She struggled again, but it was weak and took only Aragorn to hold her.

"Shh," He murmured, holding her tightly as she fell against his chest. "He is with his forefathers now. He is safe, and would not want you to grieve so. Shh, my lady, shh." Alandria did not answer other than to beat her fists weakly against him, as her cries continued in cracking sobs. "Gimli." The Ranger spoke up. "Empty one of the boats. We have not the time for a proper burial; the Falls must do." The Dwarf nodded in understanding, and turned to empty one of the Lòrien boats, Legolas helping. Aragorn continued to hold her - gently now - as she unceasingly wept, only tightening his hold when she tried to pull away. He had difficulty understanding her immense loyalty to the soldier of Gondor, all the while fearing he knew the true answer too well. Her heart was now broken; he foresaw that it would not ever fully heal.

His two comrades returned then, and he carefully sat the weeping woman upon a fallen tree nearby, then knelt in front of her. "Lady Alandria," He murmured, light eyes seeking to hold hers. "We must move him before darkness falls. The journey cannot be slowed anymore. I am sorry."

Her green eyes stared, unseeing, brimming with anguish and pain of unbearable measure. But they met the Ranger's gaze at last, and slowly understood. She nodded slightly then, and he rested a gentle hand on her arm before standing and moving away. Alandria watched as the man and elf carefully lifted the faded body, then lowered him into the boat. They laid him with his long sword, his silver and ivory horn, his broad, round shield. Aragorn kept the leather vanbraces, imprinted upon them the Tree of Gondor. Legolas then knelt near the Elven casket, and his lips moved slightly in quiet, foreign words. Once done, he moved to let Gimli step forward and murmur his own quiet respects quickly, then let Aragorn do the same.

The Ranger gazed at the still body of the red-haired man in a remaining disbelief; he had never seen this fall coming. He had never expected to lose his fellow man. True, the Gondorian and he did not see clearly eye-to-eye, but they were brothers. And a dying race. "You fell trying to save our hope of survival, my brother." He whispered. "In your memory, I continue." The dark-haired man pressed his lips firmly against the already-cold-forehead of the soldier, and turned away.

Aragorn knelt before the Rohan lady again, and her stare seemed more focused and aware, her tears somehow still running, but silent. "My lady." He murmured gently. "If you wish to say a farewell... we must go soon."

She nodded, standing shakily with his help, croaking hoarsely, "Yes," and wandering numbly to the edge of the water, where her autumn-haired soldier lay. The instant his pale body came into view, what little strength she had found to stand left her, and she collapsed to her knees at his side. He lay on his back in the boat, hands crossed over his breast, sword in their grip, shield and horn at his feet. The blood that had given him color was washed away, and he was clean and cold. His beautiful eyes were forever shut, his breath forever still in his throat. A sob tore at her again, as she was reminded that he would never open his storm-grey gaze or speak to her in his deep, rich voice. Never would he do anything.

Alandria struggled to control herself and be strong, as she knew she should be. Such actions as her's were foolish; she had suffered death before. The other three companions were not beaten with such pain and sorrow as she was, they were silent, strong. She too could be the same. And so she took a shaking breath, gazing into the hard, handsome features of the Gondorian, and slowed her tears. Her hand grazed his autumn-colored hair, and her lips brushed lightly across his, cold and unmoving. She leaned back again with a painful sigh, the wound in her chest still burning and bleeding it felt, and murmured softly to his deaf ears.

"What do I do now, my lord? You tell me..not to give up hope, but how do I keep it when..when you have fallen?" She took another breath, angrily brushing away the tears that fell again with her anguish. "You yourself saw little hope in this journey. Now that you are gone..what do I do? What do I do, now that you have..taken part of me away with your passing?" He did not answer with words or motions, he would never. But a sudden breeze twisted through the air, tossing Alandria's dark braid and stray hairs about, bringing to her the smell of grass and open land. The slight wind peculiar, but she understood - he was showing her hope. He was showing her what there was still to fight for. "Aye, my lord Boromir." She whispered again. "For one country, one person, or for all of Middle-earth...yes. We must continue."

"My lady," Aragorn spoke loudly from a distance away, as he and the other companions waited in earnest.

Alandria nodded, understanding before he spoke, and glanced down at her slain soldier once more. She would have given anything for just a word more from him, a touch, but no. He was forever taken away. She pulled from her wrist then a small, tight bracelet of woven horsehair, both dark and light, and laid it beside the man in his casket. "So I may be with you even in your death." She refrained from touching him again as the pain in her chest hit her once more, and stumbled away quickly, feeling control slipping.

Aragorn met her as she left the boat's side, and his hand on her arm was a useless comfort, she paid no heed to his soft, blue-green stare. "My lady," He said once more, quietly, and held a object out to her. Alandria numbly stared at the dark, red-brown cloak, yet her body trembled and tears came fresh again.

She shook her head, trying to step away, but the Ranger would not let her. "No." She finally choked out, but the man's hold was strong as iron.

"Take it." Aragorn gently encouraged. "To keep him with you."

"He will already be with me too much." She snapped back, but he ignored her, pressing the fur-lined soft cloth into her hands once more.

"Please lady, just take it."

Reluctantly she did, and he nodded, before leaving her alone.

The man, Elf, and Dwarf swiftly took her place at the boat, guiding it carefully and quickly into the water. Aragorn seemed reluctant to let it go, struggling to hold onto the Elven raft for a moment more, until the current tore it from his grip. He waded defeatedly back to shore, where the other two already stood, and they watched their fallen companion drift nearer to the Falls. Alandria sat upon a spot of stone, hands resting upon her raised knees and cautiously cradling the folded winter-cloak of the Steward's son, eyes staring blankly at the dark ground. Soft words touched her ears then, deep and soothing in a haunted tune of song.

_"Through Rohan over fen and field, where the long grass grows. The West Wind comes walking and about the walls it goes...What news from the West, oh wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?"_

It was Lord Aragorn, raising his gentle voice in a farewell tune to their brother, to her love. Pain and despair threatened in her mind again, and she lifted her gaze to the calm waters of the Anduin river, watching the pale Elven boat with rain in her eyes.

_"I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey. I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away...Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more. The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.."_

The Ranger's words pained her, further splitting the break her chest already bore. It tore into her stomach, devouring her easily with pain she had never imagined bearing. The song was beautiful in the worst way; in the way that tore at her and hurt her more than should have been possible. In the way that brought back every good memory she had of the Steward's son, of every moment they had been together.

_"O Boromir! From high walls westward I gazed afar, but you came not from the empty lands where no men are..."_

The Elf's voice raised now, more musical and beautiful, less haunting than the Ranger's. _"From the mouths of the sea the South wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones...the wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans. What news from the South, oh sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the fair? He tarries and I grieve.."_

She closed her eyes to the melancholy song, breathing deeply the painful breaths of loss. The power of song was mighty and it could almost call back the dead - but not quite. For song belongs to the human heart, and even the loving human heart is of less avail than death.* And so she accepted painfully the fact that her Boromir was dead, was gone, and would never return to her. But in his honor she would continue. For she could not give up at a time such as this, not when so much depended upon their journey.

_"Ask not of me where he doth dwell, so many bones there lie..on white shores, and dark shores, under the stormy sky. So many have passed down Anduin to find that flowing sea..ask the North Wind, news of them the North Wind sends to me.."_

Alandria rose unsteadily to her feet, just as the last glimpse of her soldier disappeared over the Falls of Rauros. Aragorn looked over at her, hearing her rise, and she nodded in return. He mimicked her actions, and then turned to watch the peaceful river again as Legolas finished his verse of the song, leaving the rest for the Ranger. The Lady from the North, but of Rohan, felt hot tears of agony and unproved love wash down her face once more, whispering her final words beneath the dark-haired man's sorrowful song: _"For Gondor, for Rohan, for you and all peoples of Middle-earth...until the end of days."_

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_"Snub-nosed are the Immortals, and black," the __Ethiops say;_

_But "No," the Thracians answer, "red-haired, with __eyes of grey." **_

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**...what did you all think? I hope no one's too upset about my choice to go the canon-direction with this! I never like seeing/reading Boromir's death, but at the same time, I'm also a firm believer that some of the best romantic endings are tragedies. I hope the quote at the end wasn't horribly random and unnecessary as well. That, and the other quote I used, I read recently in a book and immediately thought of this story with them. But thank you everyone so, so much for reading and reviewing - you really keep the story going, and me writing! Now, if some of you have not lost faith in me, I'd like to announce that I've started a bit on a sequel to this. It was not intended, but the idea came upon me a little over a week ago, and has been growing like a weed since! More than likely, it will soon evolve enough to be posted..Anyone that is particularly interested or curious, just message me and I'll run the plot by you. Again, thank you all so much! I'm beyond thrilled that this, my first LOTR fanfic, was received so well - it's certainly encouraging! Thank you all!! Cheers, Alex**

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*** **"The power of song... ..than death."; Micheal Grant, The Myths of the Greeks and Romans

**** **Xenophanes; from The Myths of the Greeks and Romans, by Micheal Grant


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